


Never Look Before You Jump

by oh_simone



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, It's a Wonderful Life Steve Rogers, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steve Rogers meets Steve Rogers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_simone/pseuds/oh_simone
Summary: Steve Rogers aims for 1949, but lands in 1947 instead.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Daniel Sousa & Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers
Comments: 24
Kudos: 101





	1. Here You Come Again

**Author's Note:**

> Some self-indulgent vignettes of Agent Carter-verse absorbing Captain America movie characters.  
> This is finished, just going through some final edits. Chapters will be posted daily or thereabouts.
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/75Pqk6vewmf25LG1Y1PRnh?si=6oATeR8ISYW4uewwRGv8og) that goes along with the chapter titles.

“Last Thursday,” Daniel said out loud.

Jack glanced at him briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “What about it?” he asked as he navigated then up Amsterdam Ave.

“You asked when was the last we heard from Peggy. It was last Thursday. She called in with… womanly matters.”

Jack snorted. “Like she hasn’t ever used that exact same excuse to go rogue. Besides, that was a week ago. That’s well enough time, to get over, y’know.” He made a vague gesture that could have equally applied to fly-swatting.

Besides him, Daniel looked uncomfortable and exasperated. “Heck if I know; in any case, it’s rude to ask.”

“Well, here's your chance to muster up the courage,” Jack declared, finagling a parking spot right out from under a silver Chrysler. The other driver leaned out the window, swearing, but Jack flipped open his coat to reveal his holster, and the Chrysler quickly spotted another opening down the block.

Daniel watched all this with a long-suffering grimace. “Someday, they'll call your bluff,” he warned as Jack rounded the car and joined him on the sidewalk. Before them was the stoop of a magnificent, neo-classical townhouse with marble steps and white stone facade.

Rolling his eyes, Jack hopped up the steps to the door. “Then we'll get to have ourselves a real hoedown, won't we? C’mon.”

They rang the bell and listened keenly for signs of life. Nothing.

“Maybe she's not home?” Daniel said, sounding worried and Jack scoffed.

“Look at the size of this place; she's probably still stuck crossing the parlor,” he said, and rung the bell again, this time keeping his finger pressed firmly so that it continued to bing-bong-bang ceaselessly.

Mortified, Daniel glanced at the sidewalk surreptitiously and locked eyes with an older woman walking by. He tried to smile reassuringly. The grandma shot him a suspicious glare, clutched her bag closely, and hurried off. Daniel turned to Jack and hissed, “Stop that!”

Jack slid him an unimpressed look that spoke of the myriad times he'd had to beg extra barricades off the local precinct after Daniel and Peggy blew up a city block/warehouse/garbage scow. He lifted his finger to allow for one silent moment, then jammed it back again.

“She'll kill you,” Daniel said.

“Only if she's home,” Jack grinned.

“Oh, well better write your tombstone now, because here she comes,” Daniel said as heavy footsteps came stomping closer at increasing volume.

The words were barely out before the door was yanked open hard enough that Jack’s hat blew askew.

“Marge!” he said brightly, tipping the brim of his hat back in place, and to Daniel, “Go on, ask her your question.”

“Chief Thompson,” Peggy bit out icily. Her glare switched focus crisply. “Daniel. What are you doing here?”

“Hey Peggy,” Daniel said before Jack could open his fat mouth and get them both shot. “It's good to see you?”

Jack shot him a pitying look. “Carter, you've failed to check in for the last two days-”

Frowning, Peggy shook her head. “I left a message with Rose.”

“-and as a senior agent of SSR, with access to sensitive information, you might recall that unless on assignment, your physical presence is required in the office, or at the very least, your communication needs to happen directly with me. Your direct supervisor,” Jack said pointedly. “Codicil 4.45, SSR handbook.”

Peggy sighed, looking pinched, and continued gripping the door. “I promise you, Chief Thompson, there is nothing out of the ordinary to my absence. It really is a strictly personal matter, and I thought it best to take some time and resolve the matters at once.”

“Is everything alright, Peggy?” Daniel asked, a thread of concern in his voice. Sure, she’d turned him down, and they’d endured some awkward exchanges in the interim, and maybe he _was_ considering that promotion and move across country to get away from the excruciating pantomime of we’re-all-just-friends-here-totally-ordinary-coworking-friends-here, but. Well, he still _cared_.

Peggy softened, just a touch. “Completely fine, Daniel, I promise. Trust me,” she swore.

Daniel nodded, but didn't reply. He noted that she still held the door half closed, hadn't invited them in. Wasn't dressed to go out, and her curls had gone loose, a sign that often meant she was distracted, anxious.

“Glad to hear it,” Jack said brightly, and brandished a manila folder. “In any case, you have a few case files missing a signature, and we're wrapping up first quarter reports.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll bring them back tomorrow,” Peggy said hastily and reached for the files. Jack pulled them away.

“I'd prefer if we go over these now; they’re time sensitive,” he said, a steel undertone in his words. Besides him, Daniel’s spine stiffened at the tone. “You understand, don’t you?”

“No, no I think…what...” Peggy blinked and cut herself off, distracted by Jack's finger tapping a frenetic pattern against the file. “What? No, oh for heaven’s sake. I'm not being threatened or held hostage!” she said indignantly.

Daniel exchanged looks with Jack, and didn’t relax his grip on his crutch. “Peggy, look, you can tell us what’s going on,” he said quietly. “We can help.”

“Thank you, Daniel, but it’s a- a family matter. That's all,” she said solemnly, holding his gaze with a steadiness meant to be reassuring. She reached out the hand not holding the door to pat his arm, and he smiled back uncertainly. Besides him, Jack went still.

“Who did that,” Jack said, very quietly. Surprised, Peggy looked down at where her sleeve had pulled back from her wrist, exposing a wide ring of vivid bruises that would exactly match a handgrip.

“Oh—nothing, no one,” Peggy said, shaking her sleeve down.

Jack’s eyes flicked behind her, into the shadowed foyer.

“Jack, I promise, it’s been taken care of,” she tried again.

“They’re still here, aren’t they?” Daniel said, low and taut, eyeing the tight grip she had on the door.

“Sousa, you have your piece on you?” Jack asked calmly.

Peggy looked ready to slam the door in their faces in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, you two. I’ve _said_ to _trust_ me.”

They both regarded her, Daniel somewhat guiltily, Jack with marked skepticism.

“Marge, since when have I ever done that willingly?” Jack replied, and earned himself a filthy glare. “Besides, you’re not exactly a fount of trust yourself.”

“Peggy?” someone said from the shadows inside the house. “It’s fine, let them in.”

“Are you sure?” Peggy asked, her brows drawing together worriedly. She darted a look behind her shoulder, then back at her colleagues.

“From the way the one on the left is holding his cane, I think maybe a new tactic is called for,” came the wry reply. Jack and Peggy both glanced down at Daniel’s feet, where he’d carefully levered the tip of the crutch against the doorway for better leverage, in case he presumably had to jam the door open and fling himself against a vile opponent.

“Just covering the bases,” Daniel said lightly, retracting his crutch. Peggy sighed, half-turning as the shadows down the hall shifted.

Into the afternoon light walked an in-person army recruitment poster painted in bold red (shirt) and blue (jeans) and golden wheat (hair), exuding solemn uprightness and robust physical health. His gaze wasn’t hostile, but cautiously alert. He was incredibly handsome as well, and curiously, _curiously_ familiar. Even Jack went a little breathless with awe. To his side Daniel made a faint, strangled sound.

“This is Jack Thompson, chief of the New York SSR office, and senior agent Daniel Sousa.” Peggy waved cursorily at her colleagues, mouth pinched.

“Howdy,” Jack said, then immediately looked as though he regretted saying anything at all.

Peggy rolled her eyes, and motioned to the man behind her. She said stiffly, “This is Grant,” just as Daniel snapped out of his daze and stammered, “ _C-Captain America_?”

“What?” Jack said, turning to stare at Daniel.

“No!” Peggy said, horrified.

“Oh, uh,” said the stranger, blinking.

“I know they look alike,” Peggy said hastily. “But _this_ is _Grant_.”

Jack looked at the stranger, then at Peggy, then back to the stranger. “ _Grant_ is Captain America? What happened to Steve Rogers?”

“No, he isn’t! No one is!”

Next to him, Daniel seemed unable to look away from the stranger. “I- I mean Captain Rogers!”

“Wait,” Peggy tried.

“I’m just an old friend,” the stranger added helpfully and also a beat late.

“But he’s dead?” Jack’s head swiveled back and forth like he was watching tennis. “Captain America, he’s dead. Right? Plane accident? Drowned?”

Peggy nodded. “Yes, exactly! Captain America, very dead. It’s quite sad.”

Behind her, the man coughed.

“Sir, I—thank you, you saved my life,” Daniel said, heartfelt, and utterly oblivious to Peggy's desperate interjections.

Jack pointed. “How do you know him?”

Daniel barely glanced at him, too busy gawping, awestruck. “He pulled my platoon’s fat out of the fire at Bastogne—"

“Bastogne?” The man’s face went white, and his gaze sharpened. “Are you… you’re _Daniel_ —”

“How do you know Daniel?” Peggy demanded, bewildered.

“Yes! Wow, how did you remember? I mean, I was pretty delirious when you and the Howling Commandos stopped by the infirmary after,” Daniel breathed.

“Just a good head for these things I guess,” said the man with a weak grin.

“You’ve met?” Peggy demanded, and in any other situation her confused horror would be hilarious, but…

“Okay, alright! Shut up, all of you _shut up_.” Jack broke in then, elbowing in between a flustered Daniel trying to offer his hand for a shake and the man, who Peggy was still barricading from the door. “Carter, who the hell is this? Who the hell are you?” He swung around and glared hard at the man. “You Captain America or not, and what the hell have you been doing to Carter?”

Put on the spot, the man just looked at Peggy and raised a pointed eyebrow.

With a sigh of frustration, Peggy threw up her hands and stepped aside. “You two had better come inside, I suppose,” she snapped.

“ _Thank_ you,” Jack said pointedly as he ushered Daniel in ahead of him.

“Don’t push your luck,” she grumbled, and slammed the door shut behind them.

Half an hour later found the four of them sitting around the breakfast table processing the impossible chain of events that had led to one Steve Rogers sitting across the table, sipping builder’s tea and absently contemplating the sea green wallpaper. Daniel stared blankly and Peggy fiddled with her teaspoon.

Jack, bent practically double, cradled his head like his fingers were the only things keeping his skull from cracking in half and spilling out his brains.

“So,” he said slowly. “So, you’re telling me. That you,” he thumbed at Steve without lifting his head from his left hand, “You’re from another timeline, where you were defrosted like a Thanksgiving turkey seventy years in the future, and fought in a- a group of- of super humans with... magic powers. Against aliens. And your friends invented time travel to defeat them? Am I getting this right?”

Steve sipped his tea again and nodded serenely. “That’s about the long and short of it, Mr. Thompson. Though not everyone's abilities were magical; some folks got 'em from science projects gone awry. Some were normal humans. And then there were the aliens. Good ones," Steve added reassuringly, as if that somehow made up for everything else that'd come out of his mouth.

“Jack, you alright?” Daniel asked, subdued. He looked like he might be nursing a headache too.

For a long quiet moment, Jack said nothing. And then, “I quit. I really, really quit. I don’t want to know all this—Sousa, take over. Or fight for it with Carter. I don’t care, I’m moving to DC and taking that job with the FBI. I’m done.”

“Oh, be serious, Jack,” Peggy sighed.

He lifted his head and glared. “How can you believe this- this crock of nonsense?! And what- what if he’s lying! An imposter! You know the Soviets have been experimenting with exactly the sort of- of shady, face-changing, identity-stealing stuff that could do this!”

“As if I wouldn’t have taken precautions,” Peggy hissed indignantly. “I've been running blood samples all week, and he’s able to answer correctly everything I’ve asked.”

Jack turned. “Daniel, tell me, do you believe this swill?”

“I—" Daniel’s gaze jumped between Jack and Peggy, then landed on Steve, who was smiling faintly. “Well, earlier, you seemed to recognize me—or my name, at least. Did you really remember it from Bastogne? Or did we—do we meet again?”

At that, Steve’s smile dropped off his face. “I—no,” he said quietly, glancing away. “Never. It’s… I'd heard your name before, from a mutual acquaintence.”

“Oh,” Daniel said uncertainly. “Right.” Across the table, Peggy caught his eye and shrugged helplessly.

“Christ,” Jack marveled. He took a deep breath. “Alright, so let’s say I believe you and you are some… immortal time traveler. This- this is an opportunity, isn’t it? We can do so much with your knowledge of what happens. Prevent wars and tragedies. Eliminate threats before they appear.”

“And who’s to say whoever’s at the top will just use this information to cause more problems? Or that trying to anticipate problems won't start bigger ones in unforeseen consequences?” Peggy pointed out. “We had this conversation three days ago.”

“Well, if you’d brought us in earlier, you wouldn’t have to do it again,” Jack snapped back, and they bristled at each other.

“Peggy, were you ever going to tell us?” Daniel asked suddenly.

She didn’t reply, and after a moment, his shoulders sagged a bit.

“It’s too dangerous,” Steve said. “It’s already…” he laughed then, a little frustrated. “There’s already been too many changes, already.”

“Besides the obvious?” Daniel asked. Steve shrugged, but the chagrined twist in his smile pointed to more things having gone awry for him that they suspected.

Jack eyed the fabled captain narrowly. “So, what now? You say you don’t want to bring this in, you say you don’t want to tell us anything. What are you gonna do? Get married, retire to one of those new Levittowns and hide out with your secrets for the rest of your life?”

“Jack, come on,” Daniel murmured.

Jack spread his hands. “It’s a valid question. I get not wanting announce it in the _Times_ , but he’s an asset. We could be saving _lives_ here.”

“Don’t talk about Steve like he’s an object,” Peggy snapped. “He’s been saving the world for nearly a century.”

“And he could continue saving even more! It’s- it’s a chance to make things right! Whaddaya say, Captain?” Jack asks instead, a defiant tilt to his chin and doing his best to stare down an American War Hero who was paying more attention to the delicate china cup in his hands than an excitable SSR chief across the table.

“I say that’s exactly what I was planning to do,” Steve said mildly, and when Jack began to smile, added, “Learn how to garden daffodils. Paint. Maybe get a dog.”

Peggy smacked his arm with the back of her hand, and winced. She’d clearly forgotten about her bruised wrist.

“Peggy, are you alright?” Daniel asked. “What happened there anyways?”

“It really was nothing,” Peggy sighed, even as Steve ducked his chin, sheepish. “This silly prat thought materializing in the kitchen pantry of a covert operative at midnight was a wise idea. And you two weren’t the first to have some serious, serious doubts. Some furniture was…”

“Rearranged,” Steve said. “I misjudged my timing and landing, not to mention my grip while I was holding her off. I am sorry about that, Peggy.”

“Oh, shut up, I know. He’s healed up already, but I shot him through the shoulder,” Peggy said frankly, pointing to the conspicuously unbandaged arm.

“It’s not even the first time she’s shot at me,” Steve agreed, sounding almost nostalgic.

Jack and Daniel exchanged another set of looks full of unexpected fellow feeling.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Jack said, finally, desperately trying to steer the conversation back onto solid ground. “What’re you going to do now? Am I going to have to worry about some- some super human vigilante sprinting through Yonkers when you get bored of pruning box hedges?”

Peggy side-eyed Steve, but didn’t deign to answer for him.

“…You might as well tell us,” Daniel suggested gently. “Look, you can trust me. Jack, meh.”

“Watch it, chucklehead,” Jack grumbled, crossing his arms. “I can keep secrets too. Besides, isn’t it pointless, by now?” He flapped a dismissive hand. “By your logic, that other timeline can’t happen again. We might as well make the most of the opportunity. We’ve got hindsight now.”

“It’s not as easy as that, Jack,” Peggy hedged, but Jack cut her off.

“Look, we both know that as soon as Danny-boy and I leave, you and Mr. America are going to jounce off around the world to put things in order on your own. Don’t even bother, Marge. I might’ve underestimated you before, but I think I’ve learned my lesson,” he drawled, leveling her with a sardonic eye.

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Chief Thompson, but I highly doubt it.”

“Children, please,” Daniel sighed. “Not in front of company.”

“It’s nice to see you’ve made friends, Peggy,” Steve said, and faced down three doubtful grimaces.

“Unbelievable pain in my ar—”

“I sign your paychecks, sweetcheeks.”

“Call me that again, Jack, go on,” Peggy said with a distinct air of danger.

Daniel leaned forward again, breaking the stalemate and caught Steve’s attention. “Captain Rogers, we’ll keep this off the SSR books,” he promised, and ignored Jack’s indignant squawk.

Steve shrugged, his massive shoulders bunching up and down, and Jack seemed to rethink the necessity of his protest. “Thank you, Agent Sousa,” Steve said soberly, something briefly unreadable in his blue eyes.

“In return,” Daniel continued, “let us help you.”

“Count me out,” Jack groused, and Daniel absently thwacked his shin under the table.

“Jack will help too,” he said firmly, and when his so-called “boss” shot him an outraged glare, he leveled a skeptical eyebrow. “Would you really rather Peggy and Captain Rogers go off breaking into secret bunkers around the world without you knowing? Come on, Jack. They’re going to go whether you approve of it or not.”

“But without any kind of accountability? Look, Captain, I’m sure you’re a very dependable, upright guy,” Jack said. “But no one—not even you—has perfect judgment all of the time.”

That seemed to strike a nerve in Steve; his mouth thinned. The table went quiet and tense, but then he sighed a little.

“I’m no more perfect than anyone else,” Steve finally said. He caught Jack’s gaze and held it steadily. “I’ve never claimed to be. But here’s the thing, Chief Thompson. There’s not much on this earth that is, no one man or woman, organization or government. All you can do is hold yourself accountable to the only thing that matters. Yourself. Those you care about, and who care about you in return.”

Jack scoffed, but not loudly.

“In any case, I don’t answer to you,” Steve reminded him mildly, and bore his hard look patiently. “As you said, I’ve got a second chance at this. I can’t fix all the ways that the world goes wrong, but I think there are some people that can be saved, in a way that will go a long way to making things right. I won’t bring any organization into this, but I’d like your personal help, if you’re willing.”

He then fixed Jack with a soulful, solemn stare, while Jack frowned and grit his teeth and tried not to rise to his better instincts.

After a moment, Daniel leaned over to murmur quaveringly, “Jack, America is calling on you to do your patriotic duty.”

“This is not funny, Sousa!” Jack hissed furiously.

Daniel pinched an inch of air. “Just a little,” he grinned, and peered at him intently. “Are you… blushing?”

“No! Dammit,” Jack swore, and pushed back from the table. He stomped out of the room.

Peggy watched him leave before sipping her tea and making a face. Cold. “He’ll be back,” she told Steve, patting his hand gently. “Jack’s got to have a bit of a wobbly and talk himself around so he can feel he’s agreeing out of self-interest. I’m going to put the kettle on.”

The breakfast room fell quiet then, Steve’s smile lingering as his eyes trailed Peggy’s progress to the kitchen.

“It must have been hard,” Daniel said, and when Steve looked to him inquiringly, Daniel smiled crookedly. “Waking up in the future.”

“It was,” Steve said, and after a moment, quirked a bittersweet smile. “Not all bad though.”

Daniel wondered, “Why didn’t you stay? You’d been there a decade. Enough time to make a life, make friends. Have a family.”

Steve didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, his gaze was far off, in another time. “Yes, that’s true.” He turned, and his gaze caught on Daniel’s, brief and unreadable. “I guess I just wanted to come home. One last time.”

Daniel wasn’t sure what to say, and so they lapsed into a pensive quiet.

Shortly after, Peggy came back into the room, lofting a piping hot kettle of water. “More tea?” she asked, smiling at Steve like they were the only two people in the world.

A hard lump had lodged stubbornly in Daniel’s ribcage, but he distracted himself by examining his tea cup. Thankfully, Jack didn’t let him dwell on it for too long as he came striding back into the breakfast room and dropped back into his chair.

He began, as if picking up the conversation exactly as they’d left it, “Let’s say—let’s just say, the four of us. How- how are you planning to do this? How are you going to decide what will receive our special attention, and what not?”

“We’re hoping that by taking the least amount of action, we’ll be able to affect the most optimal chain of consequences,” Peggy said carefully, darting a look at Steve.

“What kind of actions?” Daniel asked.

This time, Steve was the one to straighten up in his seat and reply, with a spark in his eye. “Rescue operations,” he said simply. “Two of them.”

“That’s it?” Jack asked doubtfully. “You want to rescue two… people?”

“Not just anyone. People who have changed the course of history,” Steve said.

Jack and Daniel exchanged looks. “Well, who are they?” Daniel asked.

Steve held up one finger. “One is an American POW currently imprisoned in the USSR. In a few years, he will be brainwashed to be an assassin that will singlehandedly change the course of history. Several times. Unless we save him.”

Jack looked doubtful until he caught Peggy mouthing, “Presidents,” and drawing a line across her neck with a pointed eyebrow lift. Then, he just looked pained.

“And the second?” Daniel prompted, though he had some inkling about who it might be.

Steve huffed, head dropping forward a little with a little wry shake. He glanced up again, something self-deprecating twisting up his mouth. “Me.”


	2. Bang Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack "won" the coin toss.

Jack shivered against the concrete walls of the Siberian HYDRA base and glaring at Steve Rogers, whose blue eyes only glinted mild amusement at him.

“It’s not so bad,” Steve said, in exactly the right way that made Jack itch to deck him, if he could only feel his fingers. The supersoldier was outfitted in three fewer layers than his companions, and yet still seemed as comfortable as if it were merely a brisk spring day rather than going on about 20 degrees Fahrenheit plus windchill. They had disabled the security of a back entrance and snuck inside the service corridor, and Jack’s vocal cords had only just started to thaw.

“Your friends are insufferable,” Jack snarled at Peggy instead, who sniffed at him as she tucked her gun into her holster. She crouched to rummage through the black duffel at their feet.

“You’re the one who insisted on coming, Jack,” she snapped from behind the thick furred ruff of her anorak.

“Because otherwise Sousa woulda come instead,” he pointed out as he kept one hand on his holster and one eye down the corridor. “Besides, we flipped a coin for it. I guess this means he won.”

She rolled her eyes. “Steve and I could handle this ourselves.”

“Oh, could you? Guess I'm just the soft-headed schmuck putting his own career on the line and egregiously misusing office resources to make sure you don't get your idiot selves _killed_ ,” he muttered.

Peggy bounced to her feet and slapped a black tool kit into his hands. “Do you have this, Thompson, because if you do not, Steve and I are about to stroll to our early demise into an entire building of Siberian Nazis. Good lord, what a nightmare configuration,” she added.

“HYDRA knows no bounds,” Steve said and glanced at Jack in a way that made him straighten his back, regardless of how cranky he felt. “Thompson, we're counting on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, lay off the radio voice,” Jack scowled, opening the kit up and retrieving the wire strippers and cutter. He set to work, popping open a wall panel and tugging out the coil of wiring. After a few minutes of fiddling, he fingered out a slim yellow wire and glanced at his companions. “Remember, you have 15 minutes when those doors go up.”

The two of them nodded and aligned themselves on either side of the security door, and Jack pulled the wire. The door slid open to reveal another long, cold depressing corridor of cement. Fascist architecture at its least fashionable.

“Godspeed,” Jack said, only slightly dubiously.

“See you soon,” Peggy said, and off they trotted into the bowels of HYDRA hell.

At the wall panel, Jack listened tensely for gun fire or the like, but it was quiet. A couple minutes ticked by before he checked his watch and murmured over comms, “I'm scrambling the footage and keying up the explosives.”

Two taps over his ear as acknowledgment. “No delays, boys and girls,” he muttered, and set to work.

It was quickly handled—it helped that the guards overseeing the security feed had been the first stop they'd handled. And also, they were in Nowhere, Siberia; its very existence was its most formidable layer of security. Jack worked quickly, destroying the tapes of any footage the cameras might have caught, setting the timer that would trigger all the explosives they’d placed around the facility.

Then, it was just a matter of darting back out the service corridors to the alley where they'd hidden the car in a camera blind spot. He slammed inside the driver’s seat, cursing and rubbing his hands together. Starting the car thankfully also kicked the heat into high gear. He waved his hands over the vents, _almost_ missing the muggy jungles of the South Pacific islands.

The portable radio communicator on the passenger seat crackled to life, and he pulled it onto his lap, lifting the mic up as the static resolved into words.

“-ack? You there?”

“Daniel,” Jack said. “I'm here. What do you have for me?”

“Flight plans have been confirmed, you’re clear to land in Hicksville. What's the situation?”

Jack sat back and peered out the window, but it was quiet—no shouting, no gunfire, no activity just yet. “So far so good. Just another Sunday evening, ‘bout to kickback with the crossword. Everything alright in the office?”

Over in New York, Daniel was sitting at Jack's desk, filling in as interim chief. He sounded distracted, asking, “Yauch is requesting a new office chair, he said he spoke to you about it?”

Jack snorted. “Deny it. He’s just trying to get you to sign off on that while I’m not there.”

“Thought so,” Daniel grunted. “Also, West Coast called.”

“Oh yeah? How’s Rose doing?”

“Well, sounds like it's been good for her. Musta misheard her; she mentioned something about the beach for Christmas. But actually, she’s calling about staffing. She’s wondering if we could rotate a few more senior agents through to help train up the office.”

“To Los Angeles?” Jack peered out at the frozen surroundings visible through the car windows. “Tempting to put myself up as candidate.”

“I almost volunteered,” Daniel admitted and Jack groaned.

“If you leave me alone with these two lunatics, Sousa I swear…”

“We compromised on Chester Harrow and Eric Vasquez,” Daniel said. “They’re already packing their swim trunks.”

“I'm the one that needs the vacation,” Jack grumbled.

“You need a trip to the optometrist,” Daniel corrected. “How much paperwork have you been stockpiling here? I've only been doing this for two days and I think I need glasses.”

“Aren't you glad you turned down the promotion now?” Jack said feeling almost cheerful. “Instead, you’re stuck here, same as me. Running a full side gig in world-saving on top of a regular gig in world-saving and no extra pay. A couple of real do-gooders we are. “

“You’re right,” Daniel laughed. “I'll put both of us down for Los Angeles instead, and Peggy can deal with New York, how's that?”

“That's more like it,” Jack agreed. He looked around outside again, but it was still quiet. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just, no screaming. No flashing lights. Maybe this is gonna work out after all.”

Over the radio, Daniel groaned. “Well, now you’ve done it.”

“I have, haven’t I,” Jack sighed. “I’m gonna check in.” He adjusted the other comm unit in his ear and was immediately assaulted by a wave of shouting and ratatat gunfire.

_“-Gate! East Gate! Jack, you better be there, or I will rip your spine out—”_

“That’s my cue,” Jack told Daniel hastily while throwing the truck into gear and peeling out from the shadows.

As soon as Jack rounded the corner of the base, he found the chaos that had been missing. “I’m here, I’m here, where the hell are you?”

“Keep driving!” Peggy shouted, so Jack did, veering as close as he dared to the compound walls and scattering HYDRA agents as he did. Bullets punched through the truck’s side, but he saw Peggy now, and Steve behind her, the two of them dragging along a third figure. Jack gunned the engines, drew his gun and shot back at their attackers and screeched to a stop just long enough for the three of them to throw themselves into the backseat before stomping the pedals and shifting into high gear. They careened off helter-skelter, narrowly threading through the outer gates before they closed behind them. Jack steered onto the main road, icy and poorly paved, with a white-knuckle grip.

“They’re still tailing us. Jack, where’s the spare clip?” Peggy demanded breathlessly.

“Glove box. Ow, sit down—what are you—fine,” Jack said as Peggy proceeded to climb over into the passenger seat, nearly clipping his ear with her knee.

Peggy twisted out the window and leveled off a small storm of shots. “What happened to the explosives? Jack?”

Jack jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, just as a rolling cascade of booms began wreaking havoc behind them.

“Ye of little faith,” he said smugly. Peggy rolled her eyes. “Everyone alright back there?”

“We’re doing swell,” Steve said. “Chief Thompson, this is Bucky. Buck, say hi.”

Bucky groaned incoherently, head listing towards the window. Steve grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him hard just as another bullet cracked through the glass and whistled past.

“Steve, there’s four trucks after us,” Peggy said.

“We gotta lose them before we get to the jet, but that’s coming up in two miles,” Jack said, eyeing the rearview mirrors nervously. One massive truck was gaining on them, and gearing up to run them off the road.

In the backseat, Steve murmured something soft and reassuring before glancing out the window. “Just keep driving, and get Bucky on board. I’ll take care of this,” he said amiably.

“Hold on, I’m going to try to lose them around this corner here,” Jack snapped, gunning the engine.

Peggy though, was hustling up out of the seat and through the window, ignoring Jack’s outraged shouting.

“What are you two—stop! Get back in the car! Get back inside!”

“Darling, I’ll take the left,” Peggy called, before blasting away at the car coming up on them, and then fully hoisting herself out and onto their roof. “Jack, keep steady!”

“I’ve got the rest,” Steve proclaimed with a shocking lack of urgency.

“Where are you going,” Jack demanded.

Steve smiled. “To infinity and beyond,” he said.

Jack and Bucky stared.

“You’ll get it, in a few decades,” Steve winked, and then flung himself out the car at oncoming traffic.

Jack drove on autopilot, as Bucky made distressed noises in the back seat. Through the blind numbing fog of panic, Jack could feel cold dread grip him by the throat.

“There are two of them,” Bucky hissed, high-pitched and horrified.

“You read my mind,” Jack growled as they finally rounded the corner to the clearing where Howard’s jet was waiting. “Come on, Sergeant, we need to get you inside. You can yell at the idiot twins as much as you like once they get here.”

“Will they?” Bucky asked darkly, still half-muddled and feverish. Jack slid him out of the backseat and slung his arm over his shoulders.

“Pal, I sure hope so, because I can’t fly this thing,” Jack said, and hauled him up the onramp. 

“You seem used to this,” Bucky commented as Jack dumped him on the first available seat and shoved a wool blanket into his lap.

“Completely unwillingly,” Jack assured him and ran back to the car to grab their equipment, adding on his return, “It’s no Howling Commandos, but Carter doesn’t exactly have a delicate touch.” He settled down in front of Bucky and pulled the med kit over.

“Neither does Steve,” Bucky said gloomily and winced as Jack shone a penlight in his eyes.

“Y’know, I’m starting to get that.” Jack turned just as there was a final burst of cacophony in the distance. “I think that’s them,” he said, and sure enough, a truck came screeching around the bend and barreling down towards them. Jack raised the rifle in his arms, but lowered it again as it skidded to a stop. Peggy and Steve bolted from the car and ran for the plane.

“Cutting it close there, Marge,” Jack said, but Peggy, grinning smugly, just patted his face as she limped past to join Steve at the cockpit.

“Take care of him, Jack, while we take her up?” she called, and Jack exchanged an exasperated look with Bucky.

“Unbelievable,” Jack said.

“Tell me about it,” Bucky replied. Jack buckled him in and pressed a canteen of water and a rations bar into his hands. “Now what?”

“Now?” Jack collapsed besides him and tilted his chin towards the window, where the Siberian landscape was quickly blurring as the plane raced towards liftoff. “Now we go home, Sergeant, and I pretend like none of this ever happened.”

_Coda_

Daniel leaned on his crutch and said after a pause, “The quartermaster ran out of limbs for you too, huh?”

At the counter, Jack choked on his coffee.

Bucky glanced down at his missing arm, and back, frowning, until Daniel nudged his pants leg up to reveal the prosthetic.

“…Oh, yeah. You’d think they’d have spares,” Bucky replied, and Daniel grinned. He came forward into the SSR’s small office kitchenette.

“The army? They never even have enough batteries for flashlights. Daniel Sousa, SSR. It’s an honor to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky took the hand with a faint, crooked smile. “Bucky, please. Thanks for your help.”

Daniel waved it aside. “I did nothing,” he demurred.

From the coffee maker, Jack pointed at him. “He figured out where you were held.”

“It was obvious,” Daniel said.

“It was not,” Jack assured Bucky, setting down a mug for him before gripping Daniel’s shoulder and giving it a friendly shake. “Our Sousa does good work.”

Daniel eyed him suspiciously. “Thank you, Jack, you’re very selfless this morning.”

“I can be very altruistic when I’m alive,” Jack said, “and not a pile of mincemeat in Siberia.”

“Cheers to that,” Bucky agreed, and they clinked mugs.

“Peggy not in yet?” Daniel asked. Her desk had been empty when he’d dropped his coat and briefcase off.

“Taking the day. She’s sleeping off a sprained ankle, sustained when she decided to launch herself out of a moving car at another moving car,” Jack said, and when Daniel made a face, said, “Yes, exactly.”

“So, why’s the sergeant here then? Isn’t he supposed to be resting too?” Daniel asked. He flicked a curious glance to Bucky.

“Well,” Jack said.

“Got sick of sitting around,” Bucky said. “Plus, thought we may as well get a head start on debriefing.”

Daniel nodded automatically before frowning. He swiveled to stare at Jack. “You brought him in for questioning? Does Peggy know about this? Does St- Grant?” His eyes flicked over his shoulder to check if anyone caught his near slip, even though the office was still unpopulated this early in the day.

“He said he wanted to get out of the house! And Grant knows. Will know. I left him a note,” Jack said.

“Shouldn’t he be in a hospital? He was a POW in Siberia for over two years,” Daniel tried.

Jack scratched his head before gesturing helplessly at the specimen placidly sipping his coffee. “Look at him, Sousa. He had a bagel and a couple naps then went for a run around Central Park. Five laps. He’s in better shape than either of us.”

It was true—uncannily so. A little haunted around the eyes, and in need of a haircut, but disregarding the missing arm, Bucky was the image of perfect health while Jack, heavy bags under his eyes, and a bit sallow, finished mainlining his coffee and immediately poured himself another cup.

“I’m much better, thanks,” Bucky agreed, his mug hiding his faint smile.

Daniel eyed them both doubtfully before shrugging. “Well, Mr. Carrot-and-Stick, it’s your death, not mine.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Very funny. It’s not an interrogation, alright? We’re also putting together paperwork for him, reinstating his status, all that bureaucratic stuff. And we’ll be doing this in my office, like civilized people, not the interrogation room. You can sit in if you’d like.”

“Sure. Just not in front of the door; I won’t be in the way when Peggy comes for your head,” Daniel said.

Bucky laughed and got up from the table. “I’ll take the outside seat. So Sousa, how’d you lose the leg?” he asked as they made their way out of the kitchen.

“Gross negligence with a bomb,” Daniel admitted. “You?”

“Oh, same, but with a train,” Bucky said.

“Jesus, the two of you, as bad as the others,” Jack muttered, and followed them, rubbing at his temples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid3) is chapter specific commentary.


	3. Make Yourself Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief scenes from a party.

For all of Stark’s genius, he could be remarkably obtuse when it came to other people.

_Thank God for that_ , Jack thought as he watched Stark natter excitedly at Barnes, while Steve, disguised behind a thick, lumberjack beard, glasses, and unassuming tweed, hugged the wall and was thoroughly ignored.

“Looks just like a regular guy, huh?” Angie Martinelli murmured, sliding up on Jack’s left. She had a plate piled high with hors d’oeuvres that she was working through steadily, never once blinking away from Sergeant Bucky Barnes, miraculously returned POW and guest of honor at this Stark shindig.

“It’s what all the tests indicate,” Jack lied; they’d gotten some bloodwork back from the labs the other week, and well. That explained a lot. Doobin was practically salivating he wanted Barnes’ biological samples so bad. “Why? What’s your angle, Martinelli?”

She shrugged, and swatted his hand when he tried to sneak a sausage roll off her plate. “English sure is lucky, surrounded by all you handsome fellas,” she said cheerfully. “Hey, ya think that telephone office of yours has room for another operator?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “What happened to Broadway?”

“There’s only so many productions of _Oklahoma!_ that can run at the same time,” she said philosophically.

“Cheer up, Martinelli, you’ll always be the Julie Jordan of my heart,” he told her.

“Wrong musical, you philistine,” she said, then perked up as the band began to play something quick and catchy. “Say, Chief, can you dance?”

Jack shrugged with genuine regret. “Sorry, Martinelli, my card’s full up. But if you ask nicely, the sergeant might take you for a spin around the dance floor,” Jack added, with a nod at Barnes, who looked increasingly trapped by Howard’s gunfire-rapid conversation.

“Y’know, you keep pushing all the gals at your friends, you’ll end up alone,” she told him cheekily, and he snorted.

“Good, I like a bit of peace and quiet.”

“Alright, Gramps,” she laughed, and spotting a break in the conversation, shoved her half-eaten plate at Jack and brushed out her skirt. “Keep a close eye, buddy, and watch this opportunity slip away.”

“Atta girl,” Jack said, and watched her sashay with purpose. Shaking his head, he picked at the plate and cast his gaze around the rest of the room. The annual spring ball that Howard hosted for his investors, local politicians, and society pals was in full swing. There was a spot of media present as well, though Bucky had been mortified at the attention. But it was good press for all, and also an opportunity for the SSR to investigate rumors of politicians holding covert technology swaps with foreign agents.

Out on the dance floor, Angie had successfully sweet-talked Barnes into a lively Charleston, his pinned-up sleeve proving no match for their collective grace and skill. A real grin had snuck its way onto Bucky’s face, and the light flush on his cheeks had driven out the haunted, ghost-like quality that had lingered along the lines of his face since his return.

“That your doing?”

Jack turned and felt his eyebrows go up. “Very dapper, Dan,” he said approvingly of the sharply tailored suit. “You going to the opera after?”

Daniel huffed and took Jack’s drink from his hand, ignoring the outraged glare. “Stark’s introducing me to potential donors for the veteran’s charity I’m fundraising for, and in preparation, sicced Mrs. Jarvis on my wardrobe.”

Jack craned his head past Daniel and spotted Ana Jarvis near the entrance of the ballroom, hands clasped and beaming at them. She waved, and he waved back.

“With her eye for fashion and your soulful puppy dog gaze, you’ll raise enough to equip all vets and their pets a missing knee,” Jack said magnanimously, and Daniel glared.

“It’s for veteran’s housing,” he snapped, and Jack winced.

“Did I say knee? I meant apartment,” he said.

“You’re such an asshole,” Daniel sighed, and downed Jack’s drink in retaliation. “…This is soda water.”

“Spiked with a generous twist of lime. Peggy and I are on the clock, remember?” Jack said, tilting his head in the direction of Peggy Carter thrilling and charming a group of septuagenarians.

“Ah yes. America’s greatest threat… senior citizens,” Daniel said.

Jack shrugged. “DC’s a different kind of battleground.”

“One that I’ll leave to you and Peggy,” Daniel said. “And you never answered the question.”

“Hm? Oh. Angie was looking for an excuse to dance with a war hero. Barnes looked like he needed a distraction. I just lined up their sightlines,” Jack said as they watched Bucky and Angie whirl past more sedate couples.

“You’re a war hero too, Jack,” Daniel said, amused.

“Mm,” Jack said noncommittally, ignoring his colleague’s curious glance. “Sure, but Barnes’s novelty hasn’t worn off yet.”

“And how’s our Mr. Grant?” Daniel asked, changing the subject without prompting. “I don’t see him—oh. Huh.”

“He was right; Stark hasn’t noticed at all,” Jack said. “I guess no one’s ever really thought about Captain America with a beard.”

“They should have; it’s impressive,” Daniel said, prompting a snort from Jack. "Speak of the devil and all that.”

Jack straightened from his slight slouch as Howard ambled over, toothpaste-ad grin on his face. He swiped a couple fresh flutes from a passing server and handed them off to Daniel and Jack.

“Hello, Chief, Agent,” Howard said cheerfully, raising his glass. “I hear we have you two to thank for the safe return of our own Sergeant Barnes. That’s some fine intelligence work.”

They dutifully clinked glasses, not daring to exchange obvious glances. “Just glad it worked out,” Daniel said.

“Oh, this is no place for modesty, Agent Sousa,” Howard said. “Peggy and Sergeant Barnes told me all about it, your late nights poring over Soviet cables and maps, practically teaching yourself Russian, to trace some wispy mention of an American prisoner of war.”

“That’s our Daniel,” Jack bragged, clapping a hand on said man's shoulder. “He’s a regular Dick Tracy. A real bloodhound when it comes to Americans in trouble.”

The look he received did not bode well for later. Jack grinned back broadly.

“It wasn’t just me,” Daniel said sweetly. “Jack here did the actual extraction. Broke the locks on those chains with his very own hands, didn’t you say?”

“Is that so?” Howard’s too-sharp gaze swiveled and pinned on Jack.

“Had some help with bolt cutters. Useful things,” Jack said, and drank his convenient champagne.

“Remarkable work,” Howard said, eyes glittering and unblinking. “You know, I would’ve done more than lent the plane. If I’d known what it was you’d been onto, I could’ve come in from California. Flown you myself.”

“Well you know, us intelligence folks,” Daniel said, “it’s all about need-to-know.”

“Sure, maintaining the advantage and all,” Howard conceded. “Well, it must have been helluva mission, agents.”

“Just part of the job,” Jack said gamely.

“But how well you boys get it done,” Howard laughed. “Some lead, huh?”

“Couldn’t believe it at first, but I guess you could say in hindsight the intel was unquestionable,” Daniel said, poker-faced even as Jack stamped on his foot.

But Howard just looked amused, and a little like he was still rotating the puzzle pieces in his mind. “Everything always looks better in hindsight,” he agreed.

Jack nodded aimlessly and then perked up with no small amount of relief. “Aw, nuts" he said brightly, “you’ll have you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, looks like I’m being summoned. Besides, I think Daniel had some sort of idea he wanted to run by you, something about boats and icebergs?”

He ignored Daniel’s eyeroll and skipped off towards Peggy, who looked like she was about to ruin the night of one misbehaving person-of-interest.

“Did Howard say anything?” Steve asked him twenty minutes later, when the two of them were hauling Peggy’s catch into the trunk of Jack’s car.

“Ah, nothing for you to worry about.”

Steve frowned as though he didn’t quite believe him, which only irritated Jack. They worked in silence, thumping the trunk shut and climbing into the drivers and passenger’s seats respectively.

“Y’know, you could stay, hang out with Barnes and Peggy. Sousa and I could have handled this part; I’m actually being paid for my time,” Jack told him as he shifted the car into gear and began the drive back to the office.

With a shrug, Steve tossed his glasses in the backseat and began peeling off the beard. “Big parties were never my thing. Had enough of those during my dancing days.”

“Right, yeah. The USO tour. Your act never reached the Pacific,” Jack mused. “Truly a disappointment to the boys.”

Steve looked skeptical for a moment, before his brows cleared. “The Star-Spangled Singers, huh?”

“Oh, the envy killed us about as much as the bullets and mortars. At least Europe got the Star-Spangled girls. _We_ just got malaria.” And the fetid, rotting jungle, stinking mud, an enemy that not only had guns and tanks, but great big fuck-off swords too… but comparing war stories with Captain America probably never went well for the other party.

“Navy?” Steve asked.

“Marines. First battalion.” 

Steve whistled. “That deserves a treat. I think I still remember the routines.”

“Thanks, Captain, but unless you got the skirt too, I think I’d settle for a beer,” Jack said.

“One thing the future does do better,” Steve said fondly. “Beers. By the dozens.”

“No kidding?” said Jack, who'd never really thought about beer beyond whether it was cold and strong.

“A good imperial IPA is one thing I'll look forward to,” Steve said, sounding just a little wistful. “Nothing better after a job well done.” His gaze was distant, something strangely heavy in his smile.

“Well hell, Rogers, you miss beer so much I'll bring you some of my uncle’s homebrew next time,” Jack said, feeling obligated to lighten the mood.

“I'll take you up on that sometime,” Steve said.

“So what's next?” Jack asked quickly. There was something suspiciously confessional staring to twist the atmosphere in the car, and there was no way anything said now wouldn't be regretted by all parties later.

Steve thumbed the back of the car. “I can help you with that if you want,” he said, just as their captive came awake and made his outrage known.

Jack steered expertly over a couple of potholes, heard the satisfying thumps in the trunk and waved off the help. “Nah, you've done enough. We’ll drop him in the tank and let him stew for the night. Peggy and I can wrestle for the honor of interrogating him tomorrow. I meant the fishing trip. “

“Right,” Steve said dryly. “Well, suppose it'll depend on how well Agent Sousa and Peggy can talk their way into Howard's wallet.”

“Stark won't stand a chance,” Jack assured him. “With a flex of Carter’s righteous fist and a bat of Danny-boy's big brown eyes? No contest. All you gotta do is figure out how the world should deal with two of you.”

“You know,” Steve said, “believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to plan for that.”

“I’ll just bet it isn’t,” Jack muttered, shaking his head, as he steered them over the bridge into Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid4).


	4. They Say it's Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a nice afternoon.

The townhouse was quiet in the daytime—Peggy was at the office, Angie waitressing at the automat, and Steve had disappeared on some mysterious errand as he often did, and no one ever knew if it was diverting global disaster, or buying up the fruit stall’s entire stock of bananas. Bucky would have offered to go with him, except he’d still been asleep. Had slept until noon, when the shrilling phone in the hall woke him up.

Now, Bucky sat on one of the spindly chairs in the garden, cupping a coffee and staring at nothing. Or, maybe everything—the sky was something. So were the stone pathways that wound across the green, grassy lawn. There were rose bushes along the walls, just starting to bud, and in a few weeks’ time, they’ll be a riot of reds and pinks, heady with perfume. Above his head, the sun radiated clarified, butter-yellow heat, no clouds, not today. A rare, near perfect April day in New York. Bucky wasn’t doing much—but his eyes were heavy-lidded, head tilted back against the chair, and _oh_ —he was doing so much.

The door behind him creaked quietly open.

“There you are,” said a familiar voice. “I brought sandwiches. Mind if I join you?”

Bucky barely lifted his head in acknowledgement, just waved his coffee cup to the matching chair across the small bistro table. “Suit yourself,” he said.

Daniel Sousa smiled and lowered himself into the chair, then reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a couple bundles wrapped in butcher paper and napkins. “I got pastrami on rye and meatball. Take your pick.”

“Surprise me,” Bucky said, and Daniel slid over one sandwich before unwrapping his own. It took a bit more careful finagling for Bucky to extract his own sandwich, but his companion barely seemed to notice, much less offer to help. That was a relief. He bit into his pastrami, quietly victorious. “Thanks. So, what brings you here? With lunch?”

Daniel made a face as he chewed, then swallowed. “Jack and Peggy are at it again. Sometimes, I want to shove them both into the ring and let ‘em box it out of their system—that’s how I used to make all my friends.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’d have to handicap Carter, and Chief Thompson’s got too much pride for that.”

“Good point,” Daniel sighed. “Well, they’re supposedly both adults, so I’m sure they’ll figure out the paperwork by the end of lunch without too much mauling.”

The sun was warm; Bucky tilted back his chin so the light could catch more of his face. “Chief’s just a worrier.”

Daniel almost choked on his sandwich. “Jack? A worrier? About what, his reputation?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked over the vivid greenery of the garden. There was a butterfly, dancing over the small yellow flowers that twined along the garden wall, darting here and there in strange patterns and Bucky was mesmerized.

“That man has the territorial instincts of a mama goose. He could be more graceful about it, sure,” he said absently.

“Are we talking about the same guy?” Daniel asked.

With some reluctance, Bucky tore his gaze away from the garden to meet Daniel’s skeptical gaze. “It’s easier to see from the outside,” he said, and then, “You never noticed, huh?”

Daniel grimaced and shrugged. “Didn’t think he was worth my attention after the first time he implied I was hired out of pity. Then I guess it just became habit.” Bucky’s eyebrows lifted and Daniel tapped his cane once with a wry quirk of the lips. “It was my first week on the job. Jack’s always been the biggest jerk in the room.”

Bucky eyed him with some amusement. “Hope I never piss you off. You sure can hold a grudge, pal.”

“Aw, heck,” Daniel said ruefully. “Now I’m the one that sounds like the jerk.”

“Nah, no way,” Bucky assured him. “Don’t ever let him live it down; it’s a lesson worth repeating.”

“What lesson?”

In his mind’s eye, Bucky remembered a scrappy scarecrow of a man, blood staining his shirt and a righteous light ablaze in blue, blue eyes. He opened his eyes and flexed his remaining hand, making a fist and shaking it out gently. “Everyone’s got to reckon with their past choices at some point, don’t they? So you better be living your best before time comes.”

Daniel considered him quietly. “Wise of you,” he said lightly. “Makes me wish I’d joined the Rockettes when I had the chance.”

“Me, I woulda gone out for the Dodgers,” Bucky commiserated.

“It is hard to bat one handed,” Daniel agreed. “But you still have a shot at pitching.” He crumpled the remains of the oil-spotted butcher paper into a ball and rolled it between his palms. “I’d figured you’d be all for letting go of a grudge. Take the high road, like Captain America would.”

Bucky nearly choked on his beer, his attention fully caught for the first time since Daniel arrived. “Are we talking about the same guy? Is that really what people think? That Stevie is some kind of suffering saint? Listen, that punk might be twice as large as he used to be, and a century older, but he’s still as ready to go as a wet cat in a bag. He’s just learned to hide it better at some point in the future,” Bucky said, sounding appallingly fond.

Though what a future it must have been. Sometimes, Steve looked startled when Bucky laughed out loud, as if it wasn’t a sound that matched the face. As unspeakable as Bucky’s time locked deep in that Siberian hellhole was, impossibly, there must have been something worse he’d been facing. Steve won’t tell him, and Bucky’s both resentful and grateful that he won’t ever have to know.

Daniel shook his head and sighed. “We’ll have the chance to compare, I guess. Christ, what a strange world it is.”

Strange indeed. Any light heartedness Bucky had felt slowly scattered. “When is the trip?” he asked. He turned towards the garden again, caught, this time, on the way sunlight fractured a single leaf into a whole spectrum of greens.

“Next Tuesday. Stark’s flying us out to Sondrestromfjord in Greenland. We’ll take two charter boats out, have Stark take the secondary route while we head straight to where Steve thinks he’ll be. Gonna give it up to a full month, see if we can find him.” Daniel’s gaze was heavy on him. “You sure you’re alright sitting this one out?”

“‘Course not,” Bucky said, his voice distant. “But I’m barely fit for society at the moment. Can’t argue with that.” The truth was Bucky couldn’t sleep at night for the nightmares, and couldn’t wake in the days for the deep melancholy that sometimes suffused and weighed on his limbs and mind. He wouldn’t be of any help on this particular mission, but the interim silence and solitude might allow him enough time to pull it together for Steve’s homecoming.

“Hey, you alright?” Daniel asked quietly.

Bucky mustered a faint smile and tore his thoughts away from sharp, numbing ice and grasping cold. How strange, how unbearable to think that Steve— _his_ Stevie—was somewhere under that ice, had been for years. At least he was unconscious; Rogers had assured him of this, but Bucky still had doubts. It’s not like Steve couldn’t have learned how to lie better in the future. “Peachy. You got a smoke?”

Daniel shook his head. “Quit after the war. Besides, the captain says it’s bad for your lungs. One of the few bits of wisdom gifted from the future.”

Bucky scoffed. “That punk used to go through them like gumdrops. The doctor made him.”

“Apparently, they cause cancer,” Daniel said.

“No shit?” Bucky said. “The future sounds like a real drag.”

“Well, it’s coming no matter what we do,” Daniel said placidly, glancing at his watch. “I’d better get moving,” he sighed and levered himself up out of the chair. “Got to make sure Peggy hasn’t finally lost patience. If she has, then I’ll need to help her hide the body,” he added thoughtfully.

Bucky smiled, somewhat crookedly. “Peggy’s a lucky gal to have you at her back.” To his mild interest, Daniel’s cheeks went ruddy and he coughed.

“Oh, it’s habit, y’know. In the office. It was the two of us from the beginning,” Daniel said with studied indifference. “We looked out for each other; no one else would’ve.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Bucky said, and he did. Daniel seemed to sense it as well, because the tension bled from his shoulders, and he leaned harder on his cane. A rueful smile tiptoed over his face.

“I know it’s silly, and I’ve made my peace with it,” he said, which Bucky immediately spotted as the type of lie you tell yourself in the hopes that one day it’d be true, “but most guys only have to put up with the return of one fella when it comes to their sweethearts. Not two, and not the same one. Not that Peggy and I were sweethearts,” Daniel added hastily, blinking at Bucky in a panic. “We’re strictly—strictly colleagues, always were. Please don’t mention this to Captain Rogers.”

Bucky mimed zipping his lips. “As I said, I get it,” he said with a twist of his smile.

“I appreciate it,” Daniel said then cleared his throat. He made a show of checking the time again. “Now I really gotta go.”

“Thanks for lunch, Daniel,” Bucky called over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the company,” Daniel replied. “You want me to close the door?”

Bucky motioned to go ahead and close it after him, listened as his footsteps trailed off back through the house, until there was only the buzz of garden insects, and faintly, the sounds of the city made soothing by distance.

There were things Bucky had to be doing—Steve had left a pamphlet on the GI Bill on the breakfast table yesterday, and Angie wanted someone to go see the new show at the Met with her after her shift. But for now, in this small patch of Manhattan, it was a strange and unexpected peace he had found, warm and green and filled with life.

Bucky slumped into his chair and settled down for a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid5).


	5. That's All I Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustration and pneumonia and liberal misuse of vodka.

“Bollocks,” Peggy said tersely and vigorously shook the gadget that was supposed to help them monitor the frozen Captain Rogers’ vitals through a good two feet of ice. It remained uncooperative.

“Let me take a look at it,” Daniel said, muffled from under the layers of blankets, and stuck an arm out.

“No, no, it’s fine, Daniel. Don’t let the heat out,” she said, gently shoving his hand back under the bedclothes.

“I’m feeling much better, Peg, enough to get cabin fever,” Daniel said dryly. “C’mon, you know I hate being on bed rest. Let me distract myself a bit.”

She pursed her lips, but Daniel’s soulful, melancholy gaze could be classified as a lethal weapon and she crumpled. “Alright, fine. Sit up, and put this about your shoulders,” she ordered, dragging his coat from a nearby chair and tucking it around his shoulders. When he was situated comfortably, she handed him the boxy black gadget and sat back in her chair.

They were five weeks out on the rocky Arctic Sea, finally having turned back towards the coast of Greenland, after locating and securing this timeline’s proper Steve Rogers. In the excitement of carefully extracting and hauling aboard the ice mass that contained him, one of the crew had slipped overboard.

Daniel with all the kneejerk reflexes of a heroic and self-sacrificing fool, had tossed aside his cane and immediately dove after. They’d been pulled back on board quickly, but while the young crew member, a hale and hearty lad from the rocky shores of Maine, recovered his spirits immediately, Daniel had promptly caught cold.

And now that cold was turning into something nastier, Peggy thought worriedly, as Daniel shook with suppressed coughing.

“It’s alright,” she said, forcibly light, as Daniel poked and prodded at the scanner with even less luck than her. “Howard did warn us the chances of it working were only about 60%.”

“Mmhm,” Daniel managed raspily. “Well, what does future Steve think?”

“Oh, well.” Peggy trailed off. The truth was, Steve—future Steve, that is—was difficult to read. Now that his counterpart was rescued, he’d spent equal amount of time sitting in the cold room with his frozen self, and scratching away idly on a sketchbook on the deck, never mind that it was easily below freezing. He still sat for dinner with her, and looked in on Daniel every once in a while, but… “He’s not concerned,” she said instead. “Though his cavalier attitude is understandable given his own survival. Still, it’s rather grim, isn’t it? Just letting Steve defrost like a… frozen steak.”

“Well, if you put it like that. The alternative of chipping away with an ice pick doesn’t seem much better,” Daniel laughed, which quickly morphed into horrid, hacking coughs that shook the whole cot.

Peggy abruptly stood up and busied herself refilling his cup of water. As she waited for his coughing to subside, she had to consciously gentle her white-knuckled grip on the cup.

“Sorry about that,” he managed, voice compressed and crackling.

“Oh, Daniel,” Peggy sighed, and must have let slip something in her voice, because Daniel, sweet, foolish man, then sat up straight and tried to posture himself into good health. “No, don’t. You needn’t pretend with me. Please, don’t,” she said, touching his hand briefly.

He smiled sheepish and crooked, taking the water and nursing it on his lap. “God, I hate pneumonia,” he sighed, sounding wrecked. “Besides the shrapnel, it’s what nearly killed me in France.”

“It didn’t win then, and it surely won’t now,” Peggy said briskly. “I won’t stand for it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, and she smiled brightly.

“Once we make proper landfall, I’ll scrounge up some apples. I met a couple soldiers in the war, who swore that schnapps and apple strudel would do just the thing.”

Daniel made a face. “Sounds… pleasant,” he said unconvincingly, though that could’ve been up to either the suggested remedy or the thought of Peggy’s baking. 

“It’s meant to be curative, not a Michelin-rated meal,” she reminded him, and took away his cup for another refill. When she turned back, he was regarding her thoughtfully. He smiled as she sat back down.

“I get the feeling that something’s weighing on you,” Daniel said after a moment.

Peggy flashed him a quick smile and glanced away. “Nothing important,” she said, which she supposed was true in some ways, and very much a lie in others.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked in that serious, sincere way of his. And there was no ulterior motive or expectation behind his earnest brown eyes. It made Peggy wish that he were just a bit more selfish sometimes.

“I’m only,” she began, her mouth moving ahead of her mind. “—worried.”

“About?”

She couldn’t help the glance at the door. “Steve. And… Steve,” she admitted.

“Did he say… something?” he asked slowly.

Peggy frowned and shrugged. “Not in so many words. But this Steve, he’s—do you get the feeling that, perhaps, he isn't quite settling in? He…” she trailed off, looking pensive.

When Daniel only waited, Peggy abruptly stood up and charged to the door.

“Where are you going?” Daniel asked, startled. She spun around, spine stiff.

“There’s no rule that says you can’t get a head start on the schnapps,” she declared. “I’m popping down to the galley.”

Staring down at your younger self, shadowy and locked under wavery, frosted ice was less like seeing a mirror, and more like having your uncanny doppelganger tapdancing over your grave. They were keeping younger Steve frozen for now, hoping to monitor his defrosting in a more controlled manner back stateside, but even so, it felt like the countdown clock had started ticking away.

And rather than reaching some sort of closure, it only brought that quiet, insistent, unnamed feeling that had plagued Steve since he arrived to the fore, cemented it solid.

He sighed and felt his shoulders sag. He emerged from the hold and began making his way to the cabin he shared with the crew. _Still_ , he mused, _there’s joy to be found—the quiet, uncompromising thrill and undeniable sweetness of having righting wrongs, of having_ —

The lively murmur of voices sounded from behind Daniel Sousa’s door, and after a moment of hesitation, Steve knocked, and was called in almost immediately.

“Hello, darling,” Peggy said breathlessly, tears in her eyes and a blinding grin on her face, ruddy-cheeked from laughter.

… _of having this. Just_ , this, _for as long as it lasts_ , Steve thought, helplessly full of love and happiness as he entered the room and drew the door closed behind him.

“Hi, Peggy,” he said, drawing up a chair. She was sitting at the edge of Daniel’s bed, one hand on the bedspread, the other on her hip. “Daniel, how are you feeling?”

“Warm,” Daniel admitted, and brandished an almost empty bottle. Upon seeing whatever expression was on Steve’s face, he pointed at Peggy. “She found it. We’re drinking to my health. I have pneumonium. Iium. Ia?” he told him.

“Ah,” Steve said, eyeing the bottle. “Schnapps and strudel?”

“Don’t need the strudel,” Peggy declared. “Just schnapps! Or well. The galley didn’t have schnapps, so I took the vodka.”

“It’s very warming,” Daniel, and then curled over with a deep hacking cough.

Steve gently took the bottle out of his hand and set it far, far on the other side of the room. He returned to his seat, watching Peggy pat Daniel’s knee mournfully.

“Once we get strudel, you’ll live again, Daniel,” she told him solemnly.

“But is it worth it,” Daniel asked raggedly, before screwing up his face. “Good lord, of course it is. Still haven’t collected on the favors Jack owes me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Peggy agreed. “Isn’t it, Steve?”

“Whatever gets you to the other side,” he agreed, and was rewarded with a brilliant grin.

“Oh my darling,” Peggy sighed, and patted at Steve’s face. He caught her hand and pressed it against his cheek for another lingering moment before letting it go. “You really are committed to this beard, aren’t you?”

“You’ll need some way to tell the two of us apart,” Steve said, and Peggy sighed again deeply. She reached out and clapped her other hand on the other side of his face, forcing Steve to meet her steady, kirsch-glazed stare. Her eyes were beautiful, and brown, and surprisingly sharp, considering the near empty bottle.

“There’s something turning in that mysterious future-aged brain of yours, Steven Grant Rogers,” she said. “It worries me.” She turned his head towards Daniel. “Doesn’t it worry you, Daniel? Wasn’t that what we had just decided in this very moment?”

“You’re very mysterious, Captain,” Daniel agreed, and attempted to look as though illness and alcohol weren’t conspiring to tip him out of his pillows.

Steve carefully dislodged Peggy’s hands and reached over to nudge Daniel into a less precarious position. The young man, who in another timeline, would become Peggy’s husband and companion for over half a century, grumbled good naturedly but still managed to thank Steve with unstudied sincerity. Steve nodded, sat back, and thought ironically, _well, who knows now_ what _the future will bring_.

The unwavering stare of Peggy's gaze burned a hole into the side of Steve’s head, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

“Stop worrying,” he said, smiling.

“Can you blame me?” she asked.

Steve couldn’t help the fondness that swelled up at the glint in her eye, the stubborn set of her jaw. “You’ve got to let me keep a little bit of mystery.”

“Mysteries are meant to be solved.” Peggy looked as though she wished to shake him until those hidden thoughts rattled out from his ears like coins for her to inspect. “How about a clue?”

Steve bit back a grin. “Can’t say,” he said mock-solemnly, and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh stop. We all know you’re dwelling on your timeliness once more. Steve, shall I send you after the remnants of Hydra to distract?”

“They’re valid concerns, Peg, as Howard, if he knew, would agree,” Steve said mildly. “How much everything has changed, and will be different, with me here.” He shrugged. “How little I know about the past, and how easily I could steer history off-course.”

“I love these little talks,” Daniel said fuzzily, muffled by blankets. “Makes me feel like I’m in a Heinlein book.”

Peggy sent him a quick, fond look before turning back to consider Steve. “So, here’s a thought then,” she said and swayed forward. “Stop living in the future, Steve. You’re here, with us. With me. There’s only one future for us now.”

Steve took her hand and squeezed gently. But lord was she beautiful, just like this, pale and freckled, hair damp and limp from sweat, and up to her neck in lumpy sweaters. This was as far Peggy would go in pleading—she had too much at stake in her own life now, completely independently of Steve. And hadn’t that always been the case? Even during the war. After he’d gone. Nothing ever shook Peggy from striking her own path, with or without him.

For some reason, that was a painfully wonderful thought, as reassuring as it was bittersweet.

“I think it’ll be a good one,” he said sincerely, and she smiled back. He cleared his throat, and turned to Daniel, who was gently wheezing for breath and looking bleary. “Say, did Peggy ever tell you about that time she got stuck in a cheese cave in Montelimar with a couple of Nazi geese?”

“No,” Daniel breathed, eyes lighting up.

“Steve, no,” Peggy groaned, but didn’t stop him as Steve grinned and leaned forward.

“So we’d arrived in Lyon a couple days after the rest of the company, and Dum Dum heard from a local that there were a couple German battalions hiding out on some farm just south of town, so…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid6).


	6. Happy Days are Here Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions are always nice.

There was sunlight on his face. It was so warm that sweat prickled his hairline. The windows were open, and a mild breeze carried in the scent of sun-warmed grass and soil.

Steve Rogers opened his eyes to a white ceiling aglow with late morning sunshine. He blinked a few more times, hazily trying to make sense of his surroundings. The soft bed under him, the glimpse of trees and blue sky out the window… all was a far cry from the blinding whiteness of Arctic ice and snow he’d last remembered. His throat was dry. He tried to sit up.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” a voice drawled, and Steve froze. That was—but no.

Steve whipped around so fast he nearly rolled himself off the bed.

“Whoa, easy, pal. What’s the rush?” and then a hand was steadying his shoulder, solid and warm and impossible.

“… I’m dead?” Steve whispered, his gaze fixed on the man before him.

“Oh boy, you really should be,” the mirage scoffed, but didn’t remove his hand.

“Bucky,” Steve said, and then after a few moments, managed, “how?”

Bucky laughed softly and pulled his chair closer to the bedside. And—he wasn’t exactly the same. His hair had grown out some since the last time Steve had seen him, and his smooth cheeks were no longer hollow and dusted with the grit of European battlefields. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, and the left sleeve was pinned up neatly in place of an arm.

“Yeah, try waking up to that,” Bucky said, following his gaze. When Steve’s eyes jumped back to his, Bucky chuckled, a little painfully. “You slept through a lotta life changes, pal. Hey, it’s alright, Stevie,” he added. “It happens. And it coulda been a whole lot worse. Trust me, I’m the lucky one.”

“Bucky,” Steve echoed, and this time his voice fractured on a syllable, dissolved as Bucky leaned forward and pulled him into a solid embrace. “It’s not—is this real?”

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky said softly, and his voice rumbled in Steve’s ear, the clean scent of his pomade brushed his nose. “It’s real. We found you and brought you back.”

It could still be a dream. A terrible, vivid dream.

“Hey, get outta your head. You’re really home, Steve.” Bucky pulled away; Steve let him reluctantly, but kept his grip on his arm Bucky grinned, gently cuffed the side of his head. “It’s a long story, and it sounds like something outta the movies, but you’re here. You also got some visitors, waiting to see you.”

Steve swallowed, and stared at him until Bucky’s smile slowly slipped away and left behind something more sober.

“C’mere,” Bucky said, and pulled him back in, his fingers tight on Steve’s scalp. Without a word, Steve tucked his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, clutched at the back of his shirt. It wasn’t easy to breathe; he felt as though he was about to shake out of his skin, but Bucky wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t letting go.

Steve held on and hoped he never woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much of a commentary at all, but it's [ there](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid7), in two lines.


	7. Where or When

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky, redux.

Bucky just managed not to be sideswiped by the door being flung open.

“Whoa, hey—" he cut himself off as Steve the Younger went stomping off down the hall. Blinking, Bucky waited a moment before glancing into the library. Inside, Steve the Elder was sitting in an armchair, elbows on his thighs. He looked up as Bucky stepped in and smiled briefly.

Bucky jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Guessin' he didn’t like what you had to say, huh?”

Steve said simply, “No.”

With a sigh, Bucky crossed over to sit down in front of him. Steve tracked his progress with a pleasantly unreadable expression.

It had been a few weeks since they’d returned from the Arctic, a week since Steve had woken up in remarkably good condition. While Peggy and Howard were working overtime on the politics and paperwork surrounding the miraculous recovery of Captain America, Bucky and Steve Elder had been tasked with monitoring and bringing Steve Younger up to speed.

(A task that Jack Thompson had described as ironic, seeing as neither the POW sergeant or time traveler “aren’t exactly current themselves, but hey, better you than me.” He’d then presented Bucky with a congratulatory bottle of whiskey and driven a protesting Daniel back home to finish out his recovery from pneumonia in peace.

Thompson was an ass, but an ass with good taste in liquor, Bucky thought.)

“What’d you tell him?” Bucky asked, and Steve only tapped the side of his nose.

“Spoilers,” he said, which meant it was something about the future that he didn't want to reveal.

“You're just going to tell me anyways,” Bucky said, jerking his chin in the direction of the door.

“Not this one,” Steve said firmly.

Bucky maintained a politely skeptical look, which seemed to amuse his companion.

“Hey Buck,” Steve said, leaning back. “You still got that box on ya?”

“My shoebox of wonders?” Bucky asked sardonically. “Where we kept snails for racing on Sundays?”

Steve chuckled. “Remember that time you left the lid off and they went all over the kitchen? Thought your ma was gonna pull my ear off.”

“Alright, I know you’re aged and feeble, but let’s remember, _you_ left the lid off,” Bucky grinned, shaking his head.

Steve graciously let such an accusation go. “The other box, Buck. You kept your parent’s old photos?”

“Oh, that box,” Bucky said, remembering with sudden vividness the feel and shape of an old cigarette box of scratches and rusted tin, the edges dented so the hinged lid didn’t close all the way. A coarse cotton ribbon kept it from hanging open all the time. He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know; it’s probably in storage somewhere. Becca might know. Why?”

Steve half smiled. “Dig ‘em out, sometime. And put ‘em on the walls, so you won't forget their faces.”

Bucky considered him in silence, and sat back in his chair. “You miss your friends from the future, Stevie?” he asked quietly.

There was no immediate response, but after a moment, Steve swiped a hand over his face and sighed long and low.

“You planning to go back?” Bucky asked.

“Can't do that,” Steve said, too readily. He met Bucky’s narrow-eyed look evenly. Waiting for him to figure out the next part of the sentence.

It took another moment, and then Bucky said shortly, “But you can't stay here.”

Steve said, “No, I can't,” with that small, wry twist to his smile.

“Stevie,” Bucky sighed. He reached out his arm and clasped the back of Steve’s neck, shaking him gently. “You dumb punk. Why not?”

The weight of Steve’s head seemed to sink down into his bones, and he tipped forward until his forehead rested on Bucky’s shoulder. “I thought it would be easy,” he mumbled, sounding tired. “Like slipping back into a space I’d left for myself.”

The silence stretched long, until Bucky nudged his head up. This older Steve was impossible to confuse with his younger self; his shoulders sat heavier, and his smile was smaller, less ready. Even with the serum in his veins, time and stress and life and carved fine lines into his face. They weren’t altogether bad changes; Bucky liked the new, deliberate way Steve approached decisions. He just hated to think on what hard lessons had beat that caution into him, when nothing else before his fall had.

“It ain’t a bad thing to grow up and realize you gotta change your plans,” Bucky told him. “If it were up to me, I’d want you to stay. I think that’d go for everyone here. Peggy, Howard if he knew, those SSR fellas. Even Steve. But you’ve never met a hard choice you didn’t meet head on, fists flying, did you?”

“Bad habits,” Steve said.

“I’ll say,” Bucky agreed. “You don’t have to go, Steve.”

Steve closed his eyes and huffed softly. “I don’t,” he agreed. “But I should.” He blinked open his eyes, and there was both sadness, but light and something like peace in his face. “Bucky, I… this is everything I’ve wanted to do. I feel like I’m almost done, but I can’t stop thinking what’s next, and there’s something in me that’s telling me that whatever it is, it’s not here. Not now.”

Bucky nodded, throat tight. “Okay, Stevie. I’m proud of you. And I’ll miss you,” he added, quieter. “You, specifically. _You_ saved me from Siberia. _You_ brought me home. You- you gave me back _Steve_.”

“Did it all for you, Buck,” Steve said. “You owe me now. Better do something with your life that makes you happy.”

“I will,” Bucky promised. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid8).


	8. Don't Rain on My Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Daniel field a job interview, of sorts.

Jack set down the phone only to yank it up again when it immediately began shrilling. He groaned silently, jabbed a knuckle at the pressure point in his temple, and sucked in a deep breath. First, he broke a shoelace this morning and was nearly sideswiped on his way to work by a delivery truck. Then, Los Angeles had called, Rose apologetically reporting that Vasquez had broken his leg in a surfing incident, and they’d need another boot on the ground if possible. And now, what? Loch Ness monster in the Hudson?

“This is Thompson,” he barked into the receiver.

“Chief,” the operator replied serenely, “There’s a Steve Rogers asking to see you. I thought I’d better call you straight away, seeing as it’s Captain America and I’d hate to disappoint him.”

Jack jerked upright, and glanced frantically about his office. “He’s _here?_ ” Loch Ness monster, indeed. “Send him up. Thank you, Regina.” He hung up and flicked a paperclip out his door towards Daniel who was frowning over a case report. His aim wasn’t quite true, but the flash of movement caught his attention, and Daniel glanced up with a querying look. “Sousa, Captain Roger’s here, can you escort him in from the elevators?”

Daniel’s eyebrows went up, and he pointedly eyed the empty coffee cups, crumpled napkins, and scattered folders in haphazard stacks on every flat surface in Jack’s office. “Sure thing,” he said mildly.

Jack scowled as he shoveled the detritus off his desk and into the wastebasket. “And take him around to the kitchen, get him a cup of coffee before bringing him in.”

“Mmhmm,” Daniel said with an extremely unattractive insouciance, and loped off unhurriedly. Jack made a note to bring this up in his annual review and kicked the ratty old blanket on the sofa into the recesses under his desk.

The office was looking almost like a professional center of business again when Daniel rapped on the door frame.

“Captain Rogers,” he announced.

“Steve is fine,” Steve said, a little stiffly.

“Come in, please, take a seat,” Jack said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. Steve came in, then sat uncertainly; Daniel closed the door and parked himself on the sofa. Jack glared at him but let him stay.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming in without an appointment,” Steve said politely.

“Of course not,” Jack said, which wasn’t exactly true, but not an outright lie either, so. He tried to look friendly. “What can I do for you, Steve?”

The captain fidgeted, one hand picking restlessly at his knee. “Chief Thompson, I’d like to know if you’re hiring,” he said. Announced, rather. Jack couldn’t tell if it was the whole Captain America thing dazzling his senses, but everything Steve said tended to sound a bit declamatory. They both did.

Then, the request registered. “Hiring?” Jack echoed, and after a beat, “Here?”

“If you’ll take me,” Steve said.

Jack’s eyes slid over to Daniel, who looked similarly startled. “Of course SSR would be happy to have you, once you’re ready,” he said slowly.

“Great,” Steve said. “I’m ready.”

Jack and Daniel exchanged another set of looks.

“Well, from what I understand, they've only started on the paperwork reinstating your status, and depending on the speed of army bureaucracy, it could take another couple of weeks,” Jack said.

“But I can help out in there meantime,” Steve said stubbornly. “I can volunteer. I'll- I'll sort your letters.”

“Uhhh,” Jack said, caught between wanting to ask ‘did you talk to Peggy yet' and knowing he'd rather choke on his own tie before he embarrassed them both like that. Thankfully Daniel took over smoothly.

“We’ve got our mail room covered for the moment,” Daniel said. “But it sounds like you're looking for something to ah, fill your time?”

The Steve Rogers before them hunched his shoulders a bit. “I've got to be useful,” he mumbled, sounding strangely young.

“Sure, but there’s more than one way to do good,” Daniel said.

Steve only set his jaw harder. “I’d like to be useful away from the house,” he said with careful emphasis. At the ensuing silence, some of the tension slumped from his shoulders. “I can't look at him,” he admitted. “Can't sit and watch him—myself—look at… me.”

“Has Steve said anything to you?” Jack asked after a beat. “About the future?” Daniel rolled his eyes at that addition, but kept quiet.

Steve scowled reflexively before schooling his expression into something a bit more neutral. “We’ve spoken,” he said curtly. “Woulda been easier to decipher Greek.”

“He’s like that sometimes,” Jack agreed. Across the room, Daniel looked despairing of him.

“Hey, look,” Daniel said, levering himself up and smiling sympathetically at Steve. “This sounds like a good talk to have over lunch. What do you say we grab some sandwiches and coffee and talk about it at the automat?”

Jack jabbed a finger at Daniel. “Great idea, Sousa. I could eat a horse. C’mon, Rogers, let’s get some chow.”

The days were already tipping into that hazy overwarm stretch of summer, but Jack felt energized, seeing and feeling the sunlight on his face for the first time in a couple weeks. There hadn’t been much going on that would get him out of the office, and he’d been swamped with paperwork, and covering for a certain ungrateful shirker no less.

As they emerged from the office building and crossed the street, Jack’s brain started creaking into gear again. He’d always thought better on his feet, no matter how much schooling his parents had tried to stuff him with.

And now, even though it was barely a five-minute walk, he was in a much more cheerful mood as they slid into a booth and flagged down a familiar face for coffee.

“Hello, boys,” Angie said as she slid up to their table, one hand on her hip and the other brandishing a full coffee pot, which, bless her, this was why she was secretly Jack’s favorite. “See you’ve brought out the big guns today. Hiya, Cap!”

Steve smiled back briefly. “Hi Angie. Thanks for the coffee.”

She winked at him, and then turned to Jack. “Y’know, he makes a mean omelet. Butter, chives, real French-like.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. He’d wondered what it was like living in Stark’s increasingly eclectic zoo of a townhouse. “Oh yeah? You bragging, Martinelli?”

“Darn skippy, Chief,” Angie said. “Captain America makes me breakfast!”

“Just Steve, please,” Steve said.

“Aw, hon, no need to be embarrassed; use it to swing yourself free coffee,” she winked, and poured him out a cup.

“We’re all on Steve’s tab,” Daniel said swiftly, and nudged his mug forward with an angelic grin. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Taking advantage of the good captain’s reputation, Sousa?”

“Hey, I’m just a poor wounded war veteran trying to get a fair shake in an unjust world, Ange.”

She pointed sternly. “You know you’re cute, so stop with those eyes.”

“When you’re done flirting, can I please have some coffee,” Jack grumbled.

Angie poured out Daniel’s coffee, and holding Jack’s stare unblinkingly, pivoted on a heel and sauntered off. As Jack protested, she grinned and waggled the half-full carafe.

“Gotta fill the pot up, Chief.”

“You’re a menace, Martinelli,” Jack snapped, and she laughed gaily. She was not his secret favorite anymore. “Alright, whatever. Daniel, pot roast? Steve, what about you? Hamburger? Meatloaf?”

“I can pay,” Steve said, but Jack waved him off and headed towards the vending machines.

He returned with a full tray of plates that he and Daniel parceled out with familiar efficiency. Angie stopped by again just in time to whisk away the empty tray and finally pour him out fresh coffee.

And then for a few blessed minutes, it was lunch. Daniel took the pickles off Jack’s hamburger plate without asking or prompting, while Jack swiped his carrots. Steve chewed through the meatloaf mechanically. Across the table, Daniel raised his eyebrows pointedly until Jack sighed and set down his half-eaten burger.

“Alright, now that we’re all feeling a little more human, let’s talk business,” Jack said, and Steve immediately set down his fork. “What’d Rogers say to spook you, huh?”

Steve stiffened. “What makes you think it’s Rogers?”

Daniel cocked his head. “It’s not Peggy and Howard, they've been in DC. You seem to weather Martinelli just fine, and Barnes doesn’t seem like the type to expect you to do anything he’s not ready to do either.” He frowned. “Is Barnes looking for work?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Steve said, and for the first time today, softened, sounding awed and fond. “I think… Buck’s thinking he might go back to school on the GI Bill.”

“Good for him,” Daniel said. “Is he planning on studying anything in particular? Or where?”

“Howard’s talking him up on mechanical engineering, and promising him a job with his company after. But Bucky’s taking his time thinking it through. He's always liked history,” Steve said, and couldn’t have sounded prouder.

“Just because Barnes isn’t planning to stick around, doesn’t mean you gotta go. Why not stay in the Army?” Jack asked after a moment. When Steve looked conflicted, Jack continued, “You’re not technically discharged yet, and the Howling Commandoes are still on active duty. You could stay on, keep fighting the good fight.”

“It’s a thought,” Steve said, but he sounded unenthusiastic.

Jack and Daniel exchanged looks again.

“What about you, you considered school?” Daniel asked.

Steve shrugged. “I suppose I could go back. I had a few classes under my belt before the war.”

“What’d you study?”

“Art,” Steve admitted.

“Like, paintings?” Jack blinked.

“I liked watercolors,” Steve said. “But mostly worked with charcoal or pencil. Some oil. Did some work for the WPA before I joined up.”

Jack eyed Steve speculatively. “I know a couple of boys in ad agencies, if that floats your boat. They’re always looking for illustrators.”

A thoughtful look crossed Steve’s face, and for a moment, Jack thought perhaps all was happily resolved. But then, Steve sighed.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted.

“What’d you plan to do, before the war?” Daniel asked.

“Draw for the funnies,” Steve said, with a crooked smile. “I knew a guy whose cousin used to work in the _Brooklyn Eagle’_ s newsroom.”

“Could still do that,” Daniel said. “Heck, I have some sources down at the _Times_. I can put in a good word for you.”

“The _Times,_ huh?” Steve looked apprehensive. “That’s a pretty big card to throw down on the table. Almost big enough to be a distraction.” His smile turned self-deprecating. “Look fellas, thanks for lunch. I didn’t mean to bother you-”

“Oh, no, no, hey, hey sit back down,” Jack ordered hastily. He threw out a hand to stop Steve from leaving the booth. It worked, but there was a stubborn tilt to Steve’s jaw now, and a brush of red across his cheeks, and Jack sighed hard. “First of all, Steve, I’m happy to welcome you back onboard, if that is actually what you want.”

“You sayin’ I don’t know my own mind?” Steve asked with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Jack resisted the urge to snap back; instead his hands went up in a placating gesture. “Listen, all I’m saying is I know what it’s like. Not so much coming out the ice or anything, but going from a hot war in the middle of nowhere back to midtown Manhattan, where everything looks exactly the same but nothing feels right on your skin anymore. And everyone on the street is so- so _shiny_ , when you can barely remember how it feels to be clean _._ ” Jack shrugged. “You’d do anything to feel normal again, but lemme tell ya, you soon learn your first instinct maybe isn’t always the best choice.”

Silence fell at the table, and Jack stirred his coffee idly.

“So what’d you do?” Steve asked quietly.

Jack shrugged and dropped the spoon on the saucer with a harsh clatter. “Met a girl. Got engaged. Panicked and skipped town a couple days before the wedding.”

Daniel fumbled his fork.

“I see,” Steve said.

“So, I know a little something about rushing into things when you’re not ready,” Jack said.

“Jack, the man’s looking for a job, _you_ ruined a poor girl’s life,” Daniel said, aghast.

Jack scowled down at his mug. “She’s fine. Ended up marrying my best man. They just bought a house in Yonkers.”

Daniel shook his head. “Should have just done what people who aren’t complete sociopaths do, and hole up in a cabin with a case of whiskey for a week.”

“I don’t want to drink, and I don’t think I’m ready for marriage yet,” Steve said hastily before Jack could snap back.

“Awful shame,” Angie quipped as she swooped in to top off their coffee and swirled off again like some be-aproned Greek Chorus.

“Good, that’s fine,” Daniel assured, unfazed. “A very healthy, un-traumatic decision.”

“I just… need to keep occupied,” Steve continued, as if speaking to himself.

Jack folded his arms and sat back. He ignored Daniel’s pointed look, and stared out the window onto the streets for a bit.

“Okay look,” he finally said. “I can’t hire you until the paperwork goes through. It’s bureaucracy, and we’re just going to have to wait until it clears. But I’ve been meaning to review and update our training and intake programs, and some procedural guidelines as well. You’ve got the institutional knowledge, as well as practical operating experience, not to mention clearance; I think any feedback you’d have would be taken seriously. If you want something to do, we can set you up a couple of times a week in one of the conference rooms to start. Afterwards, uh,” Jack shrugged. “The archives need organizing too, probably. You know any photography? Ah, whatever; we can show you.”

Steve looked relieved and as though a ten-ton weight had cleared his shoulders. “That sounds swell, Chief. Thanks.”

Jack grimaced and reached out to shake his hand. “Call me Jack. And don’t thank me yet; you haven’t seen the state of these manuals.”

Always a professional, Angie sailed by again with excellent timing. “Looks like you boys have reached an accord,” she said cheerfully. “Mazel tov, here’s your check!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid9)


	9. You Belong to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Steves get their dance.

By the time Peggy staggered off the platform at Penn Station, it was just past nine and she was ready to drop into bed and sleep for a week. In the end, it had taken nearly three weeks of meetings, backroom negotiations, paperwork in triplicate, and more uncomfortable favors promised before she and Howard and finally won approval to move ahead with generating a proposal for a new federal agency.

All this was done under cover of finalizing the formal ceremonies of bringing Captain America back from the Arctic, but even _that_ cover story involved plenty of real meetings and testimony. Howard’s usual sharp smile had been dulled with exhaustion by the time they’d finally wrapped up business.

Now, Howard was on a cross-country flight back to Los Angeles to tend his long-neglected movie studio, and Peggy was fumbling with the lock to the townhouse and thinking only of bed, bed, bed.

The door swung open, leaving her blinking at the keys clutched in her hand.

“Hey, Carter,” someone said, and Peggy slowly looked up. Bucky Barnes grinned faintly and reached out for her suitcase. “You look walloped. Need a hand?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she replied automatically, before side-eying him. “Was that a joke?”

He curled his bicep, luggage attached, and said, “A fact. I’ve only got the one.”

She pursed her lips and followed him. “Hilarious, sergeant. Is everyone asleep? Or is no one asleep?” she asked. She had the master at the end of the west wing of the house, with Angie a couple doors down, and the boys had taken over the bedrooms on the east wing. Even from a distance she could see their doors ajar, and the hallways dark. It wasn’t so surprising though—Steve of the future didn’t seem to sleep much or well, and Peggy had caught him more than once late at night, leaning against the kitchen counter and mechanically chewing his way through a casserole dish of leftovers. His younger counterpart seemed to have a similar problem, but often chose to spend it through activity instead; on one memorable occasion, the household received a collect call from Paramus, Steve on the other end sheepishly asking for pickup after wearing out his shoes going for an “afternoon walk.”

“The Steves are downstairs,” Bucky said, setting her luggage down just inside the door of her bedroom.

 _Thank god for small mercies,_ she thought. “Downstairs? Both of them? What are they doing?” Peggy asked. Mostly, the open-plan basement level was given over to gaming tables and storage. The central space was empty and sprawling enough however, for Peggy to use for exercises, and Angie to practice dance routines.

“Ah, well,” Bucky said, scratching the back of his head in a manner that roused Peggy’s attention faster than coffee. “I suppose you could say they’re settling some scores.”

“What?” Peggy said sharply. “What do you mean, settling scores? They’ve only met, how could they have any scores yet?” It had been fairly clear when she’d left for DC that neither of the Steves were completely at ease with each other. Peggy had hoped that her absence would force them to work things, but now she wasn’t so sure that had been a good idea.

Bucky’s solemn expression did nothing to dispel the alarm. He told her, “You know Stevie. The only one who can out-stubborn him is his own sonuvabitch self. And I’ll be honest with ya, Carter. It hasn’t been exactly smooth sailing in Casa Stark-Carter-Martinelli while you were gone.”

“Bollocks,” Peggy muttered, heart racing as they headed for the stairs. “I had thought—but perhaps I should’ve sent Steve—Grant, that is—to Los Angeles. It was too much, wasn’t it? Oh, damn,” she fretted. Even from the top of the stairs, she could hear the muffled thuds and raised voices from the basement. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

With an entirely too flippant shrug, Bucky gestured for her to head down. “Might do them some good, knock their collective heads outta their asses,” he said. “Besides, there’s nothing that could seriously harm the pair of them. Supersoldiers, remember?”

She threw him a dirty look over her shoulder as they clattered down the stairs. “Well the rest of us aren’t, and I’m more concerned about their silly antics taking down one of the load-bearing walls instead. Honestly, how could you let them? Steve, Grant—what on earth?” Her progress was halted by sheer surprise.

The abrupt stop didn’t faze Bucky at all, who eeled past her gracefully. His shit-eating grin was growing; his eyes were glinting with triumphant glee. Peggy couldn’t bring herself to care—she was too busy staring fixedly at Steve—both Steves—who were currently shuffling their feet, painfully off-rhythm.

Angie, with a bright scarf wound about her head and her hair pinned high, was in her usual practice wear of a short-sleeved gingham shirt and sailor shorts. She stood facing the pair of them, stamping her feet in exaggerated beat, and shouting, “No, no, it’s shuffle, _shuffle,_ ball-change, flap!”

Over by one of the still-standing load-bearing walls, a scratched up record player was busy belting out a snazzy swing tune.

“Grant, Grant, Grant, yer killing me here!” Angie said, clapping a hand to her forehead. “You gotta moooove with the music! Even Steve’s startin’ to get it!”

Steve let out a small, triumphant “ha!” only to catch sight of Peggy and Bucky. He stumbled over his own feet, lost balance, and crashed into Rogers just as he’d perfected a hopping little step. They both went down in spectacular sound and fury. 

Gleefully exasperated, Angie threw her hands up in the air, and cried, “Take five!”

Bucky obligingly picked the needle off the record and the music cut.

“Peggy!” Steve the Younger said, scrambling to his feet and looking a little flustered. “When-when’d you get in?”

“Just now,” Peggy said, coming forward to stand next to Angie.

“Hiya, English,” Angie greeted, frowning sternly at the two Steves. “Hate to say it, but I’m not sure either of these two shining beacons of masculine perfection are ready for the floorshow. They got four left feet between the two of them.”

“It’s not like you to give up, Angie,” Peggy said, and Angie snorted, cutting her an amused glance.

“Did I say that? Oh, honey, you know me, I thrill to a challenge.”

Peggy laughed. “Having fun bossing the boys around, are you?”

The scrunch of gleeful delight on Angie’s face was infectious. “It sure beats slinging coffee for pennies. I used to wonder why my dance master was such pill, but now? Now I get it. The rush, English! The _power_!”

“Hey Peggy,” Steve the Elder said. “Buck.” To Peggy’s amusement, he was still frowning down at his feet, running through the tap sequence.

His doppelganger eyed him uneasily before turning to her with a slightly abashed grin. “Welcome back.”

Peggy propped one hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows. “This is some welcome. Is this your way of telling me you’re abandoning us for the vaudeville circuit?”

“It’s not that much of a stretch. I was the headliner of a record-breaking USO show, I’ll remind you,” Steve said mildly.

“He likes to brag,” Bucky smirked. “But mostly the girls did the dancing, and he flexed his arms.”

“Very nice arms,” Peggy assured Steve.

“Fred Astaire started out in vaudeville,” Grant-Steve said absently. He shuffled once, twice, tentatively moved into the ball-change, and came down on the flap with a solid thwack. The onlookers clapped obligingly. When he looked up, he was grinning. “It’s not so hard; I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“It’s settled, then!” Angie threw her hands out before her, palms up as she mimed the arch of a marquee. “I see it now! Lady Liberty and Captain America’s All-American Revue,” she proclaimed. Spinning about with a snappy pivot, she launched into rapid-fire tapping that recalled a John Philip Sousa march. “I’m your gal Liberty, curls pinned up with red and blue ribbons, wearing an awful pretty dress covered in rhinestones, and red satin shoes,” she tossed off a saucy salute. And then with a smooth skip, she ducked under Steve’s arm and pulled him into a hopping sort of jig across the floor. Laughing a little, Steve allowed it, and even managed to almost keep up with her.

Bucky chuckled, and put the record back on, and suddenly the basement was again flooded by bright, brassy music.

Angie flung out one hand. “Ladies and gents,” she cried dramatically. “You’ve seen him punch, you’ve seen him kick, you’ve seen him lift entire motorcycles, but have you seen him Lindy Hop? It’s Captain America! And then, here, velvet curtains drawn back, drumroll, spotlight, and Steve leaps-” Angie pointed and Steve obligingly hopped a little. She rolled her eyes, but continued. “He strikes a pose—we wait for the applause to die down, and then here’s the opening number. It’s gotta be snappy, it’s gotta be sharp, and a little bit funny, warm ‘em up.”

Angie dances a few staccato bars, and then stops pointedly. After a beat, Steve painstakingly copies the steps, and she beams. “And now, Grant, buddy!” she whistled and snapped her fingers.

Grinning bemusedly, Rogers sauntered up to the front.

Angie leaned back on her heels and peered at him closely, before turning to Peggy and Bucky with her eyebrows raised high. “Y’know, I know they’re cousins, but if it weren’t the wrinkles on this one, I’m shocked they aren’t twins.”

Rogers shot her a look of offended dignity while his younger self turned his unlined face away and compressed his lips hard.

“ _Wrinkles,”_ Bucky managed, gasping. Peggy offered her arm and he clutched it for balance.

Angie shrugged sympathetically. “Don’t worry, honey, it’s awful distinguished. A real elder-statesman kinda dignity.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

“Anyways, with you, we got possibilities,” Angie said. “How's your German? Your villainous smirk?”

“ _Nicht sehr gut_ ,” Rogers said, but his mouth was twitching under the beard.

“Ah well, ya don't gotta talk. We slap an eyepatch on you, get you goose-stepping, and folks will get the right idea. You'll come in and overpower me,” here, Angie swooned, telegraphing her motions clearly enough that Rogers easily caught her, and swung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. And then, blank-faced, repeated his perfected dance steps—shuffle, shuffle, ball-change, flap.

“That’s the stuff,” Angie declared. In one practiced move, he flipped her around and up and had her perched upright on his shoulder. “Well, hello, where’ve you been hiding that?”

“I’ve got hidden depths,” he said.

She patted his head approvingly. “Then here’s where the rest of you come in—special appearances by the Howling Commandos!” She pointed to Bucky, who mimed exaggerated surprised flattery as he sauntered forward.

“Ah, _now_ it’s a real show,” he said, nudging young Steve out of the way.

“You mean a sideshow,” Steve snarked.

Bucky wagged a finger at him. “You look terrible in green, buddy.”

“Give ‘em the old razzle dazzle, Sergeant,” Peggy called, and laughed when Bucky offered her his hand. “Oh, am I joining this extravaganza?”

“You are now, Carter,” Bucky grinned.

“Our glorious bandleader, Miss Britannia,” Angie suggested.

“I think not,” Peggy protested, but allowed Bucky to spin her around across the floor, Count Basie easing their way with style. It had been ages since she’d danced—not since oh, early in the war, perhaps. And after—well. She hadn’t been in much of a dancing mood. Now, her steps sometimes lagged a half beat behind Barnes’, but he was a generous partner, and bore any missteps gracefully. More importantly, the room was suffused with laughter and lightness, music and Angie’s bright proclamations, “Put me down and let me dance!”

“The Grand Finale!” Angie declared, and dragged both Steves side by side. “Alright, boys, just like we practiced. Five, six, seven, eight!”

With a great clattering, the three of them were off, Angie flawlessly stealing the show as Steve bumbled one way and Steve stumbled another. As Peggy and Bucky whirled past them, laughing, Bucky winked at her, and slid her in front of Steve, fresh-faced and pink. The instant panic that slid across his face was more than amusing, but Peggy very graciously did not laugh aloud. Instead, she took the lead and swept him out of the way as Bucky picked up where he’d left off, soft-shoeing alongside Rogers and Angie and making up his inexperience with casual charm.

“Be serious now,” Peggy said to Steve, grinning, “Is this truly your new direction in life?”

He moued with faux offense. “I’ll remind you I’m Captain America, and if I decide to be a matinee idol, then Gene Kelly had better watch his back. Oof!”

“Seems like he’ll have plenty of time to prepare,” she observed as he righted himself sheepishly after stumbling over nothing but his own feet. “Come on then, let’s get you sorted out; give us a twirl, ready? And…”

“It’s not so hard,” Steve said, cautiously optimistic after that had gone half a song without major disaster, and Peggy couldn’t help reaching up to touch his face fondly.

“Nothing is, if you have fun while doing it,” she said, and he smiled back at her.

“And among friends,” he added. “Sometimes, this still feels like a dream, and the ice will creep back at any moment.”

Peggy held back her impulse to protest, and instead said skeptically, “Your dreams involve your time traveling doppelganger coming back to rescue you, is that right?”

That surprised a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head, grinning. “I’ll admit, I’m not sure I have the imagination to come up with that one.”

“He’s a funny one, isn’t he?” she said.

Steve shrugged. And now that his mind wasn’t on dancing, Peggy noticed that he was doing quite well. “It’s strange, and well. I haven’t been the most…”

“It’s understandable,” she assured him, when he trailed off.

“Not just that, but,” he absently steered her into a turn. “I can’t help feeling like there’s something he’s holding back. Something he’s not telling any of us.”

“Perhaps as though he’s not done with his plans here yet,” Peggy finished softly. Steve nodded. Peggy bit her lip and sighed. “Well, you’d know, I suppose. You’d better drop me off for a partner change,” she said.

“With the greatest reluctance,” Steve swore, then looked mildly panicked. “And how do I do that?”

Laughing, Peggy released him and waved him off. With a grin, he saluted and meandered off to rejoin Angie and Bucky, where she was having much greater success imparting her visionary choreography to Bucky than to either Steves. The elder Steve had retreated to the side, watching them—watching Bucky, with a strange little half smile. His gaze lit on Peggy, and his grin widened as she approached.

He held out his hand for hers.

“You seem prepared,” she said, smiling as he drew her in with an assured confidence.

He ducked his head with a huff. “For a very long time.” Before she could ask, he tilted his head. “Shall we?”

“Lead on,” she replied. Unlike her last partner, this Steve was markedly more at ease. His hands were just as warm though, and he gazed at her fondly as they ambled languidly past gaming tables and record players.

One song ended, and by providence or perhaps Bucky, the next was sweet and slow. The two of them were quiet and swayed closer as the music turned low and intimate. Between them, a strange sort of energy had settled, electric and indefinable. Rogers lifted their clasped hands to his chest, his hand reverent on her waist. Peggy leaned closer and closer, bit by bit, until her cheek came to rest against his collar bone.

At some point, Peggy realized they were alone, just the record spinning in the corner and the bare lights illuminating them from above. By now, the adrenaline had dissipated, and all the exhaustion from the politicking and traveling was seeping back, clouding her mind in a dreamy haze. In Steve’s arms, she was warm and comforted and loved.

“Steve,” she said. Her eyes had drifted closed, and she felt, more than saw, his head dip down. “Stop overthinking.”

“I’m not sure I catch your meaning.” His voice was a comforting rumble under her cheek.

Peggy hummed in response. “You’ve been starting and stopping sentences in your head all night. I know you’ve got something to tell me, and I’m telling you to stop worrying about it.”

He was quiet for a beat. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Dearest,” Peggy said, “you’ve always been an open book.”

He laughed a little ruefully. “I’m just trying to find the right words.”

Peggy squeezed his hand briefly. “I’m aware. I… think we both know there’s a certain conversation we need to have.” About how he’s had one foot out the door since he’d come back. About how, this time, even if she could follow, she’s not sure she would anymore.

He stilled; the song ended and another came one, lovely and a little sad. When the admission came, it was almost too quiet to hear. “You’re not wrong.”

Even as her heart squeezed painfully, her voice managed to be light. “Yes, exactly. And I’d much prefer to hear your thoughts about whatever it is, fortified by a full night’s sleep, and tea.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, and slowly they began to sway again to the music. “So, should we talk about other things?”

“Shoes, ships, sealing wax,” she said.

“Cabbages and kings,” he laughed. “Tell me about DC. How was your trip?”

“Oh, just awful,” she sighed. “That city is a snake pit of insufferable boors hoisted by their own fragrant cloud of petard. I never want to go back.”

He made a funny little sound. “Is that so,” he said evenly, but she could hear the thin edge of amusement there.

“Don’t tell me,” she groaned.

He promised, “I won’t.”

“Mmm.” Appalling hint about her future, but Peggy supposed it was a good sign for the hasty plans she’d been arguing about with Howard over the last week.

“Hey.” He nudged her. “Keep talking.”

She smiled against his chest. “It will certainly put you to sleep,” she warned.

“I don’t care,” Steve said. “I just like hearing you talk.”

The fist around her heart squeezed again. “You flatterer,” she muttered, voice thick. She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. “Very well. But I better not catch you yawning.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t need much sleep,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Peggy shrugged and began recounting her trip, only half paying attention to her own words. Mostly, though, she was gathering details and impressing them as deeply into her memory as she could—the movement of his breath pressing against her cheek; how the ground scraped with a soft shush under his steps; the curve of his wrist bone, skin taut and shifting as his thumb stroked against her knuckles.

Perhaps later, Peggy will be overwhelmed by melancholy when she looks back on this final dance. But she didn’t think it likely. The truth was—

Well. The truth was, Peggy had already said goodbye to Steve Rogers some time ago. Now that he was back—twice over— it didn’t change the fact that her heart had been broken, scarred, and healed. His return didn’t erase her time without him. And if he left, it didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt again. But this time around, she wouldn’t be alone.

The needle had finished its slow trek across the record and the songs had faded; so had Peggy’s words. They held each other though, unwilling to break the spell.

In the silence, she said quietly, “I’d like you to stay forever. I’m not ashamed of that; you’ve been through so much, my darling, and if I thought we could be the ones to make you truly happy, I’d chain you here myself.”

That elicited a stricken noise from Steve. “You do make me happy, Peggy,” he said fiercely. “Honest to god. I’m- I’m happier than I’ve been in a very long time.”

She waited, and when he said no more, she finished it for him. “But you’re not sure if you can stay.”

“I know I can,” he said, and his hand rose up to cup her cheek gently. “Peggy, you’re- you’re doing incredible here. Even before I came back—I mean, I _knew_ , of course. I read all about you when I first awoke. You were—are amazing. But to actually see it as it’s happening. To meet the team, the friends that you’ve gathered around you, who’re going to help you make history. I’m…” he shook his head and chuckled a little self-deprecatingly. “I’m so happy, so proud of you I could burst.”

“I’m fond of them as well,” she said, and if her smile was a touch tremulous, neither of them mentioned it. “You could be part of it, this time around.”

He stared at her patiently until she remembered—“he” already was, and would be, this time around.

“You’ve already changed the world, for the better,” he told her. “I can’t wait to see what else you’ll do in this future.”

She sniffed and swallowed around the hard stone in her throat. After a moment, she pulled away. Motioning for him to stay put, she flipped the record over and reset the needle before coming back to him. Her gaze steady on his, she told him, “Well, the future can wait a little longer; you owe me the rest of my dance card.”

Steve smiled, a little wistful but full of affection. “I’d like nothing more,” he said, taking her hand, and they closed the distance as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter comment [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid10)


	10. Ain't that a Kick in the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard makes a call.

Howard woke up that Monday to Jarvis standing over him with coffee in one hand and a note in the other.

“Mr. Stark,” Jarvis intoned in that Sahara-dry way of his, “there are five bedrooms, not including those on the third floor, the day bed in the second parlor, and the garden hammock. You might consider making use of one some time.”

“You and Ana aren’t holing up on the third floor, are you? Thought we’d consigned those rooms to exiled furniture and gift baskets better left forgotten,” Howard said, wincing as he sat up from the lab bench that had been his resting place for the last night. His spine popped worryingly loud, and faced with the signs of his own mortality, he made a note to upholster the chairs and benches in the lab with cushioned surfaces.

“No, sir. We have the mother-in-law suite,” Jarvis told him, handing over the coffee.

“Oh?” Howard inhaled half the cup in one go and squinted at him. “What happens when a mother-in-law moves in?”

Jarvis’ eyebrow did a fun, judgmental wiggle up his forehead. “I will assume by then that Hell has truly entered winter, and we will likely have more urgent matters to occupy our attention.”

Howard swigged the remainder of his coffee and handed back the empty cup. “Good man, Jarvis. Keep me honest.”

“Always, sir. You have a message from New York.” Jarvis handed over the note and followed as Howard rose to his feet and swept past the clutter of his work table, where the guts of what looked like a lawnmower lay intermingled with the shredded remains of— “Is that a Balmain silk swing wrap?”

“Hm?” Howard glanced over his shoulder. “Oh. Is it? It could be. I found it upstairs. You know, silk—really good silk, is a great-”

“Sir, that wouldn’t happen to be Ms. Dietrich’s, would it?” Jarvis cut in with a pained grimace, and ohhhhh.

Howard snapped his fingers. “I see the cold shoulder at the Cocoanut Grove in a new light. Jarvis, what’d be a good, ‘sorry I gutted your jacket’ gift? Five dozen roses? Six?”

“Might you consider a new jacket,” Jarvis suggested as they emerged from the basement lab up to the ground floor.

“Great idea, Jarvis, have Ana pick something out, will ya?” Howard continued down the hall towards the master bedroom.

“She would be delighted. Sir, your message,” Jarvis called.

“What about it?”

“From Ms. Carter, sir.”

Howard glanced at the note he’d been clutching absently. “Oh, right. Thanks, Jarvis. I’ll be in the study.” He ducked into the en suite bathroom to brush his teeth and splash some water over his face, then it was a quick change to freshen up and a glance at the clock to confirm the time difference. He headed into his study, where Jarvis had laid out breakfast and more coffee, as well as a couple newspapers and a separate folder of Stark Industries correspondence. Howard sipped the coffee, pushed aside the newspapers and folders, and reached for the telephone.

It wasn’t until the operator had put the call through when he realized he should have called her office directly instead of the house, but before he could hang up, the phone picked up.

“Hello, Carter and Martinelli residence,” said a male voice that was decidedly neither Carter nor Martinelli.

Howard beamed, straightening up in his seat. “Steve! Hey, it’s Howard Stark. How’re you doing, pal?”

“Howard,” Steve said, sounding a little surprised. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

“You miss me already?” A little bit of genuine pleasure puffed up his chest. “Hey, I told ya to come out west with me and defrost in style out here. Get a little sun, maybe help a fella out? You know Stark Studios is filming its premier blockbuster right now, we could revive your screen career with a little well-placed cameo here or there. What d’you say?”

Over the line, there was a sort of laughing sigh. “I think maybe don’t quit your day job,” Steve said, but his words were light.

“Ye of little faith!” Howard cried. “I’m telling you, it’s gonna be full of razzmatazz. Gorgeous beaches, beautiful women, exotic flamingoes, even.”

“I’m sure the flamingo seems like a swell idea now, but you ever stop to wonder… why?” Steve pointed out, and Howard scowled.

“And I say, ‘why not?’ Hey, making a movie is like any other business, and I’m great at anything business. I got vision, alright? Trust me, the flamingo stays.” It was beside the point—they’d spent half the day wheeling the cameras after the damned thing as it sprinted across the soundstage, and then broke out into the lot.

“Never say I didn’t try,” Steve murmured, amused and something else Howard couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Well, Howard’s always been better with engines than people, so he gave a mental shrug and swung his feet on top of his desk, ankles crossed. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m sitting next to Orson Welles at the Oscars. Maybe I’ll take Carter as my date.”

“Don’t stop believing, Stark,” Steve laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, you know where my vision fails, money don’t,” Howard snarked. “Well, listen, it’s good to talk to you, but I’m guessing Peggy’s already in the office?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, so yes.”

Howard tsked. “Cheeky. Alright, I’ll ring her up there,” he said. “Good talking to ya, Cap.”

“Ah, just a second, Howard,” Steve said just as he’d started reaching for the switch hook.

“What’s up, big guy?”

Over the line, Steve hesitated. “It’s only… maybe you had the right idea. I’ve been thinking about traveling. Getting out and uh, seeing the world.”

“Oh, no kidding? Well, you have anywhere in mind? Want me to get my travel agent on board?” Howard said, somewhat surprised. Despite all of Howard’s efforts, Steve never really seemed like the vacation type. Well, the kid did just come out from a years-long nap in an iceberg after all, and before that, there was a war.

“No, no, and it’s just a thought, maybe someday.”

Howard blinked. “Sure, whenever you’re ready, just… gimme a call,” he said brightly.

“Just, ah,” and now Steve sounded a little tongue-tied, strange enough that an odd, anticipatory shiver prickled at Howard’s neck. “If I head on out before you return to New York, I just wanted to thank you. For not giving up on looking for me. You’ve been a good friend.”

“Of course, I mean it’s the least I could’ve done,” Howard said after a pause, somewhat awkwardly.

“A lot of people have done a lot less,” Steve replied. “It’s- of all the things you’ve made, the technology you’ve created, your company, what I most admire about you is—has always been—your generosity and kindness.”

“Er,” said Howard.

“I know, I know,” Steve laughed. “But it’s true. Your generosity and kindness—that’s what shines through. Everything else was- is- just window dressing. A flashy, red-and-gold paint job hiding solid bones underneath. And I know one day, when you have family of your own, your children will be the same. Because you’ll be there to remind them of what matters.”

Howard shifted uncomfortably in his chair, both touched and a little alarmed. Nothing that he could quite pin down, but Steve’s words sounded almost like a farewell. Which seemed rather maudlin for a phone call before noon. “Well, thanks, Steve,” Howard said, “…Are you sure you’re alright?”

Laughter rolled down the line. That’s good, humor’s good, right?

Steve said, “It’s good to talk to you, Howard. Take care.”

“You too, Steve,” he replied, frowning as they hung up. He paused for a moment, a niggling sense that he was missing something, an angle, a puzzle piece somewhere. Similar to that little party he’d thrown when Barnes first returned, just something uncanny that didn’t quite stack up. Then, with a shake of his head, he jumped to his feet, picked up the half empty carafe and went in search of more coffee.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” Ana Jarvis dimpled at him as he came into the kitchen. She was tending to her herb garden on the window sill and keeping an eye on some pots bubbling away on the range.

“Morning Ana. You got a fresh pot?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, seeing straight through his ruse and inclined her head towards the sideboard where the percolator sat. “Edwin or I would have been happy to bring you more,” she told him.

Howard waved dismissively. “Stretching my legs, get the blood pumping to my brain,” he shrugged.

“Very true! One can always do a little more exercise.” Ana finished snipping at her herbs and turned to face him fully, smiling.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll do a loop in the pool,” Howard said.

“I’ll make lemonade,” she said, watching as he nodded, took a couple steps towards the door, then turned back.

“Ana, tell the truth. What d’you really think about flamingos?” Howard asked.

Ana cocked her head. “They are very unpredictable,” she said. “But they make me laugh.”

Right on cue, a flash of ungainly pink went bolting past the window, followed half a beat later by a grim-faced Edwin Jarvis in hot pursuit.

Ana beamed.

“They’re something,” Howard said, grinning. Ah, what did Steve know anyhow? Flamingos! That’s what’ll make his film soar. He began heading out again, but then spun back around on his heels. “Just- just another question, Ana.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” Ana said, her eyebrows raised.

“When you meet a guy,” he said slowly, thumbing his chin thoughtfully, “what about him makes you admire him?”

“What kind of question is that?” Ana laughed, hands on her hip.

Howard grinned and shrugged. “Humor me.”

She cocked her head and regarded him thoughtfully. Howard basked under her gaze, subtly positioning himself to display his best angles. Laughing, Ana pursed her red lips and snapped a dishtowel at him. “Peacock,” she said affectionately.

“Are my handsome features not admirable?” he asked.

“Mr. Stark,” Ana said. “Can it be you’re nervous?”

Howard snorted. “I haven’t been nervous since my first patent lawsuit.”

Her smile turned keen. “Well, you can admire someone for all sorts of reasons.”

“Right, yes, yes,” Howard nodded absently.

“But I think people who are able to be soft when their surroundings are hard, and to be brave when they are scared, are very admirable.” She took a bowl down from the cabinet and began calmly stripping her herbs. “People like my Edwin.”

Howard grinned reflexively. “Ed’s a good egg,” he agreed approvingly. They both glanced out the window, where Jarvis had successfully lured the flamingo back into its enclosure with a goblet of shrimp cocktail. Somehow intuiting their stares, he turned towards the house and brandished one fist triumphantly as the flamingo nibbled at his sleeve.

“And like you, too,” Ana said, waving back at Edwin.

“Me, too, huh?” Howard laughed. “Well, I’m flattered. Then again, I do sign your paychecks.”

“Certainly, but I wouldn’t lie about that. Shop girls can find work anywhere, you know,” she told him placidly, doing lunch-making motions over the kitchen island.

“Good point,” Howard mused. “Well, thanks, Ana.”

She dimpled at him. “Any time, Mr. Stark.”

Strange avenues of discussion this morning, Howard thought as he took his fresh pot of coffee back to the office. In the grand scheme of business, kindness didn’t have much of a place, unless it was strategic. And Howard had never been described as such before—rather the opposite, from some of his more ah, enthusiastic critics.

But Steve Rogers thought he was kind, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid11).


	11. I Can Dream, Can't I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel drives the Steves around.

When the Dottie Underwood sighting was reported, Jack claimed the assignment so fast the ink was barely dry on the report.

“No way is some rookie agent gonna be the one to bring in my nemesis,” he’d declared.

“I think she’s more Peggy’s nemesis than yours,” Daniel had pointed out.

Peggy’d just laughed. “Oh, do tell that to her face; when she lays you out, we’ll gather more intelligence on her combat style.”

In the end, Jack took Peggy along, or perhaps Peggy attached herself to the mission, and in any case, both of them were out for the next two days.

Leaving Daniel to babysit.

Well, that was a bit unkind. Steve Rogers—the younger one—was no slouch. He’d gone through Jack’s half-hearted assignments in record time, and left meticulous and thoughtful feedback that was sending the review committee buzzing.

Now, they’d set him loose on the undocumented archives; Daniel had spent the entire day setting Steve up with a Graflex camera and light meter, showing him the basics of how to adjust shutter speed and aperture, and how to load the film. The next step was cleaning out the darkroom down in the labs, where the scientists were currently keeping their “secret” still.

It was Friday afternoon now; Daniel glanced at the clock and declared that they were done for the day.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,” he said. “I insist.”

Steve was still poking at the cabinet of various cameras however, so Daniel reached over and plucked out a compact Contax, and tossed it to him.

“Grab a couple rolls of the 35 mm too,” Daniel suggested. “You got the rest of the week and weekend to try it out, take some pics, get comfortable, and we’ll see about developing them next week.”

“You sure?” Steve asked, but Daniel gestured for him to go ahead.

“Ever since Agent Chow transferred west, not many of us in the office bothers with cameras unless we have to. You might as well do your worst,” he said, and was gratified to see Steve smile, something like enthusiasm creeping through.

They chatted easily enough about work as they headed out into the early Manhattan evening. It was unseasonably warm today—or maybe not, with summer just around the corner. Even with the rush hour traffic as slow as it was, Daniel still preferred it over the steaming slick sauna of human soup that otherwise was the subways during such weather.

Steve continued to ask for practical advice on the camera, and Daniel did his best with his barebones, crash-course understanding, which was woefully unfit for the task. But it was nice to see Steve showing interest in something—Daniel had, maybe unfairly, been thinking of him as his older counterpart’s sullen younger brother.

Now, Steve was smiling, a light of excitement in his face as they headed into the weekend. There was an Henri Cartier-Bresson show at MoMA, maybe he’d go check it out, before heading to Union Square, shoot the rest of his camera roll.

“It’s a good plan,” Daniel hummed as he pulled up outside the Stark townhouse. “Weather should hold for the next few days.”

“Thanks for the ride, Daniel,” Steve smiled as he opened the car door. Then as he caught sight of something on the street, he shrank back into his seat and slammed the door closed.

Daniel had his gun half-drawn from its holster before Steve turned with a grimace.

“Sorry, can I uh, just wait until…” He gestured feebly outside.

Blinking, Daniel peered out the windshield. Coming down the front steps of the townhouse was the older Steve, in a white tee-shirt, denim pants, and a beaten-up Levi’s jacket slung over his shoulder. He’d apparently stolen Bucky’s sunglasses as well, Daniel observed, as he skipped down the steps to the sidewalk.

“Your doppelganger has an… interesting style,” Daniel remarked. “Is that how we’ll all dress in the future, like cowboys?” He looked a little underdressed, but Daniel had to admit he could see the appeal— more casual, less stuffy for certain. Though the pants looked a little too tight to be strictly comfortable.

In the car, Steve shot him a look full of mortification, and Daniel had to bite back his grin. “He took those pants down to Chinatown and had them _taken in_ ,” he hissed.

The both of them twisted past their shoulders to watch as Steve continued down the block.

“The girls don’t seem to mind,” Daniel observed as a woman walking past Steve on the sidewalk nearly drove her baby carriage into a trash can.

Steve made an agonized sound and rubbed at his face. “Every time we interact, I come away feeling like I’ve a stack of apology letters to write to everyone I’ve ever known,” he admitted gloomily.

“Hey, that’s personal growth. People spend ages trying to get there, and here you are, reaping the benefits while you’re still young.” Daniel had to admit, he was still trying not to smile. “In any case, here’s your chance. I’ll see you next week.”

“Thanks, Daniel,” Steve said climbing out of the car, then ducked back into to spear him with a blinding smile. “You’re a good man.”

“Thanks Cap,” Daniel managed, immediately glad Jack was an entire state over so that he couldn’t mock him for the way his voice squeaked on that last syllable. Daniel watched until Steve had made his way up the stairs and into the townhouse before starting the car.

Before he could shift into gear, however, the passenger door opened, and Steve was lowering himself into the seat. Steve shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head, and also grinned at Daniel.

“You saw that, huh?” Daniel raised his eyebrows at him. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you should be nicer to yourself.”

Steve laughed. “Aw, he’s got it easy,” he said, eyes crinkling up.

“If you say so. So where can I take you?” Daniel offered, because he wasn’t going to be the one to kick Captain America out of the car.

“Wherever you’re headed,” Steve shrugged. “I’ll walk back from there.”

Daniel squinted at him. “I’m headed to my pop’s for the weekend. In Eastern Parkway.”

“Oh, good, Brooklyn’ll make for a good walk,” Steve said mildly, so Daniel shrugged and started the car.

They inched east then south, through the park and towards the Queensboro Bridge.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Steve said, once they were on the bridge into Queens. He was staring out over the East River, Roosevelt Island below and Long Island City drawing nearer.

“Oh yeah?” Daniel kept his attention on the road and slow press of traffic. While he had no trouble cooperating with him—both—Steves on anything pertaining to business, anything else he’d been avoiding. Just the whole lot of them, Steves, Peggy, and all.

Look, the thing was. The thing _was_.

Daniel was supposed to go west. After the whole Leviathan mess, and Daniel had realized that he’d been in danger of falling in love with a woman in love with a dead man, it had been easier to make plans for changes. Clean-break changes. Big, three-thousand-miles apart changes. Let the palm trees and sun soothe the broken heart. Maybe even meet someone new.

Instead, the dead man returned, and Daniel ended up being sucked into the undertow of consequences. By the time things had started settling down, it was too late—Rose had filled the empty spot in Los Angeles, and Daniel was still here, in New York. On the sidelines.

The broken heart wasn’t any less painful, when the dead man isn’t actually dead. And there are two of them. Gallingly, the only one Daniel could talk to about any of this was Jack, and Jack had, with his usual tact, suggested Daniel reserve the weekend for Atlantic City and a bottle of scotch.

The passenger side window rolled down a little, letting the wind and noise of traffic in as they wound into Queens. Steve still wasn’t looking at him. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said after another moment of silence, “but I met Howard Stark’s kid in the future.”

“Yeah?” Daniel forcibly remained neutral as he stored the tidbit away. “Chip off the old block?”

“A hellraiser. Twice as smart as his old man, and with the biggest heart I knew.”

“It’s nice you had someone familiar then,” Daniel said, which prompted a guffaw. “No?”

“We got off on the wrong foot as soon as we shook hands, and never seemed to find a good balance with each other, even though I liked him well enough. I admit, I was,” Steve cut himself off with a laugh. “When we first met, I’d only been awake for a short while, and I was lost. If I’d found myself on an alien planet, I think I could have managed it. But waking up in the future? Where all the glitz and newness only highlight the bones of what you knew? What you’d lost?” Steve shook his head helplessly. “Throw a cocky loudmouth with a chip on his shoulder into the mix, and poor doesn’t begin to describe first impressions.”

“Hey, you can’t be blamed,” Daniel said. They’d swung south, skimming over Newtown Creek down into north Brooklyn. The sun was starting to set to his right; they flashed past a perfect view of the Manhattan skyline over the East River.

“There’s room for debate,” Steve admitted, sounding fond. “He’s still one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.”

“Stark’s kid, huh.” Daniel was still decidedly on the fence about Howard. Mostly, he thought the man had too much money and not enough sense. “He the only one you met? Of uh, this crew?”

Steve glanced at him sidelong. “Peggy was still around,” he said after a long moment.

Daniel’s heart leapt. “Of course,” he said, and couldn’t help smiling despite the sudden tug in his chest. “I expect nothing less. She’s a force of nature, Carter.”

“That she is,” Steve agreed softly. Daniel could feel the knowing gaze burning into the side of his head.

“Was-was she…” Daniel struggled for the words, jaw opening and closing in aborted attempts until he just gave up and shrugged, “…well?”

“She had a good life. Really good.”

Daniel darted a wary look at him. “No spoilers?”

Steve smiled. “She was well loved. Surrounded by children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. Every time I saw her, we barely had ten minutes alone before another visitor stopped by.”

Daniel could feel something affectionate and loose bubble throughout his chest. “Grandkids, huh?”

“Four, with a great-grandbaby on the way when she passed.” Steve scratched his chin. “Must be five, or ten thereabouts, by now.”

Daniel didn’t bother parsing the chronological complexities of that. Instead, he allowed himself—briefly—to imagine little sloe-eyed, curly haired children in shorts and pinafores, kicking the stuffing out of petty criminals.

As delightful a thought as that was, Daniel couldn’t help commenting, “For someone so tightlipped about the future, I’m concerned that you’re telling me this now. You aren’t about to kill me and toss me in the Gowanus Canal, are you?”

“Too obvious.”

Daniel grimaced. “True, but now I know you’ve clearly though about it. Let me warn you, my leg’s wood, and it floats.”

The laughter that rolled from his companion was quick and easy, and when Steve glanced at him, blue eyes warm and amused, Daniel found it easy to grin in return.

“You asked me once why I didn’t stay there,” Steve said. “Well, it wasn’t until I’d effectively changed the course of history that I realized what I’d done. Made it so that Peggy’s family might be wiped from existence.”

“Ah,” Daniel said, and stopped. There wasn’t really an appropriate sentiment for that particular problem.

Steve was quiet as he contemplated the street before them. “Another regret, more red in the ledger,” he said, pensively. His hands, gripped on his thighs, were white-knuckled.

“Well, hold on. You think you’re that important, huh? Daniel asked after a moment of thought. Steve made a questioning noise and Daniel shot him a grin to take the sting out of his words. “Peggy’s still her own person, isn’t she? No offense, sir. Just because you’re here doesn’t mean that you’ve changed everything definitively. I mean if you think about it, if being in the right time, right place was all it took, there’d be a lot less unhappy people in general. Not to say that, you know, you’d make each other unhappy or anything.” _Jesus, Daniel_ , he thought, biting down on his tongue. In for a penny, though. “Just saying, that, you know. Peggy might still have that family. Or she might have a new one. That goes for you too.”

A quiet beat, and then, “Yeah, you’re not wrong.” Steve smiled to himself. “I appreciate you listening.”

“Sure thing, Steve,” Daniel replied. He kept his concentration on the road ahead, even as he felt Steve’s heavy regard on him. There was clearly something else the man out of time was thinking about, but it wasn’t Daniel’s place to poke about. He tried not to think about what Steve’d said about Peggy, to let that strange tidbit burrow its way into his mind. There lay madness, he told himself sternly. Especially with not one, but two Steve Rogers in the picture.

Daniel Sousa lost his chance with Peggy Carter months ago—no. Daniel Sousa never really even had one in the first place. The revelation stung, but in some ways at least, this was easier to accept than competing with a ghost.

Though Steve’s gaze was still burning a hole into the side of his face.

Daniel coughed and flexed his hands against the steering wheel. “So, what’s in store for you now? Are you really planning to move out to the suburbs, now that you’ve checked off everything on the list?”

“There wasn’t really a _list…_ ”

“I do talk to your counterpart, and Barnes, you know.”

“Ah, so you’ve heard about the…”

“The bananas, yes. And Raleigh Cigarettes and the, uh, lime-flavored Life Savers?”

“You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” Steve intoned solemnly. He shrugged. “I don’t think the list will ever really go away, but It’s… changed,” he admitted. “Things that weren’t so clear before, are now, and you know what, Daniel?”

“Hm?”

Steve grinned, quicksilver and bright. “I think I am ready to settle down in a little cottage somewhere, maybe raise a couple kids. A dog too.”

Daniel blinked. “Oh, er. Sure.” He concentrated very hard on the road ahead of him, carefully making a left turn onto a quiet, tree-lined street before he trusted himself to speak again, studiedly casual. “So, are congratulations in order?”

“For me?” Steve seemed mildly surprised.

“Well, you and Carter,” Daniel said, carefully.

“Daniel, the last thing Peggy needs in her life right now is a man tying her apron strings to the bassinet. No,” Steve said, shaking his head, “it won’t be me, in any case.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“I’m leaving soon. Heading back to the future.”

“What?”

“Eyes on the road, pal,” Steve prodded gently, and Daniel whipped back around. “Is it really that surprising?”

The knee-jerk ‘yes!’ just barely died behind Daniel’s teeth. He stalled for time by navigating into a parking spot a couple houses down from his dad’s place. “Guess I just figured, you’d gone so far to see her again,” he said after turning off the engine.

Steve opened the passenger door and swung a leg out. He turned back to Daniel with a strange half-smile. “Can I give you a word of advice, Daniel?”

Uncertainly, Daniel dipped his chin.

Steve glanced out through the windshield down the tree-lined Brooklyn street. “Can’t say I know what’ll happen now, but at this point, I’ve made my own peace. I’ve got no stake in it anymore,” he mused, as though to himself. “Daniel, don’t let anyone keep you down when you’re winning.”

Daniel stared as Steve left the car and started down the street, hands in his really ridiculously tight pants. After a moment, Daniel scrambled out, still baffled by this piece of wisdom. “What am I winning, exactly?”

Steve waved over his shoulder the evening lamplight glinting off his sunglasses. “Spoilers,” he called, and strolled off, whistling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid12).


	12. Anything You Can Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Steve hang out.

Steve glanced at Steve warily.

“What d’you think, the pink or the red?” his older self asked calmly, studying the bracelets on display. They were cheap, dangly things with glass beads and charms—the two he’d pointed out had little chrome ballet shoes attached.

“What are you doing here?” Steve whispered under his breath.

Steve glanced at him patiently. “It’s a festival, Steve. I’m here to stuff myself with fried meat and spend my entire wallet on trinkets that’ll dissolve the instant they get wet. No offense, ma’am. I’ll take the red.”

The vendor sniffed, but took his money easily enough.

Steve frowned and fidgeted with the camera in his hand. He watched as old Steve— _Rogers_ , it was easier to think of him as a somewhat removed relative in the greater Rogers clan—took the bracelet, folded in a square of brown paper, and slipped it into his pocket. Rogers caught his eye and inclined his head back towards the main avenue of the festival. Without waiting, he ambled off down the road. Steve scowled, considered taking the opposite direction out of pure obstinacy, then sighed.

Rogers glanced at him sidelong as he fell into step besides him, and nodded to the camera. “How’s it coming along?”

“Fine,” Steve replied cautiously. That was something of an understatement—since picking up the camera a couple weeks ago, it felt like something inside him had clicked back into place. Some spark of interest, of excitement that had lit up his mind. The first few rolls he’d gone through had been mostly terrible—half a roll was composed almost exclusively of blacked out frames because he’d had a mishap with the rewind knob. But then, after the painstaking soaking and developing and rinsing and drying, and then wincing at the gray spots and blurry frames, he could find the sharp, elegant line of a Chrysler, accidentally in focus against the blurry background of 5th Avenue. And another, that was shaky, off-center, caught a pair of ducks perched imperiously at the top of Belvedere Castle.

In the last roll Steve developed, he found Bucky’s smile, bright and rakish, his hair loose and curling, staring off to the side where Angie and Peggy had been regaling them with stories of their hijinks from The Griffin. In the next moment, Bucky had heard the click of the shutter; his smile had turned exasperated, and he’d tossed a blueberry at the camera, told Steve to make himself useful and fetch another round of lemonades for him and the gals.

Yes, the photography was coming along fine.

“You looking to take shots of anything in particular today?” Rogers asked, and Steve shook his head.

“Just wanted to get some practice in with different light levels.”

“You know, cameras in the future do all that automatically,” Rogers told him.

Steve glared and clutched his camera a little protectively. “You’re not supposed to be telling me that stuff, and I don’t wanna hear it,” he said stubbornly.

Rogers snorted. “Yeah, alright, guess that serves me right.”

Steve didn’t scowl at him, but it was by dint of pure willpower. As much as Rogers’ presence unsettled him, he wasn’t a real threat. Probably. Besides, Angie had quipped that they looked like a lapdog snapping at itself in the mirror when arguing and Peggy had agreed with amused resignation. Bucky was too busy laughing hysterically to voice his opinion, but Steve could guess what it was.

Instead, he raised the camera up and peered through the viewfinder. The world was so much simpler like this—one rectangular frame at a time. Instead of a crowd, it was three teenagers and a hot dog stand. _Snap_. A crying child with melted ice cream dripping down his chin. _Snap_. A street cart peddling secondhand magazines, the vendor sleepy-eyed and fanning herself with one of her wares. _Snap_.

Through it all, Rogers ambled beside him, taking in the sights and smells with a sort of sad, benevolent smile that made Steve want to hit him. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself_ , he wanted to shout. _Who knew I was such an awfully drippy mope_! He wondered if this was what it was like having a brother.

“Hey,” he said sharply, and when Rogers turned to him, Steve aimed the camera at his face and took a picture.

Rogers blinked, surprised, and said to himself, “I wonder if that counts as a selfie.”

“A self-portrait?” Steve clarified, and shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I'd rather let the philosophers figure that out.”

“May I?” Rogers asked, hand out and up. Steve dropped the camera in his hand, watched as Rogers turned it over in his hold. “It's heavy. By the time I was around, everything was lighter. Phones, armor. Pennies.” He peered through the viewfinder, but handed it back before he took any pictures. “You like it?”

Steve considered it. “I do,” he said. “It’s not the same as charcoals or oils, but I haven’t had much…”

“Restless, huh?” Rogers said sympathetically. “Yeah, I get that.”

“At least this is an excuse to get out of the house,” Steve agreed.

“And not busting knuckles,” Rogers added. Steve shrugged. “I think it’s a great hobby, in any case.”

“Like that’s not patronizing at all,” Steve snapped.

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

Steve brandished the camera. “You know I’m using this for work, too, right?”

Rogers’ hands went up, placating. “I know, I know.”

“You’re the one who told me to stay away from-”

“I know what I said, alright?” Rogers cut him off, sounding testy. “And all I meant was you shouldn’t—feel like—you don’t need to jump into anything.”

“Listen,” Steve said, feeling his temper flare hot and eager with combined regret and relief. “I don’t know what happened in your timeline, because you won’t tell anyone. That’s your call, and I don’t have problem with that. But don’t for one moment make the mistake that we are the same person. I am not you.”

“Steve-”

“You know what it’s like, having your whole world flip upside down in what feels like a snap. And everyone around you is—is just different. You should know the worst thing about it is being treated like something pitiful.”

“That’s only the worst, because no one was dead when we brought you up,” Rogers said sharply.

Steve reeled back. In the silence that followed, the sounds of the festival filled the vacuum.

Rogers’ jaw worked through stiffness. “When I say, ‘try something besides warfare’, or ‘great hobby’, Steve, I mean to say live your life doing what you want instead of only what you know.”

“And I suppose you’d like to tell me what that should be, right?” Steve snapped. “You come back, full of regrets, and you want to tell me everything I should and shouldn’t do, because you know it all, don’t you?”

Rogers looked away briefly. “Look, Steve, I-"

“ _Stop! Thief_! They’ve got my bag!”

In a lash of sudden wind, two men on bicycles blew by at top speed, weaving dangerously between pedestrians and nearly running over more than one bystander. One of them had a brown purse clamped under their arm.

Steve and Rogers barely exchanged glances before they took off after the perpetrators at a dead sprint as though cued by starting pistols.

The festival was crowded, but the speeding bikes were clearing a wavering trail down the street. One after another, they swerved and turned down a street.

“Rogers,” Steve snapped.

“On it.” Rogers peeled off from his side and vaulted over a street barricade. He continued racing down the parallel street while Steve continued another block before doing the same, directly on the tail of the two thieves. They were already nearing the end of the block, and Steve ducked his head and grimly pushed the pace, hoping to grab them before they whizzed out perpendicular to traffic on the avenue.

For all they were on bikes, Steve was fast enough to eat the distance between them steadily. It helped that he didn’t do anything as asinine as shout for them to stop; it didn’t matter though—one of the thieves glanced over his shoulder. His expression went white as he spotted Steve’s rapid approach, but instead of obligingly pulling over, he shouted for his companion to “Go, go!”

Steve grimaced disapprovingly and put on a burst of speed. The bikes had now made it to the crosswalk—horns blared and tires screeched as the two thieves swerved into traffic. They were slowed as they frantically wrenched their bikes to the side and between bumpers. Only a few yards behind them now, Steve grit his teeth and launched himself directly up. He bounded across the roofs of startled taxis, left boot prints on the hoods of shiny black private cars, and elicited another symphonic wave of angry honks, intercut with shouts in earthy Bronx accents.

Steve could feel a grin stretched across his face and he had to resist the urge to throw the outraged cabbies a salute and wink. Luckily, one of the thieves skidded just a little too close to a van and jerked to the side. The kid lost traction, lost control and skidded into the path of an oncoming car that didn’t seem too fussed about slowing down.

Steve barreled into the kid just in time, grabbing him and launching them both towards the sidewalk. He tucked them as tight as possible as they crashed and skidded across the concrete, slammed into the wall of a sandwich shop and stopped. Steve uncurled, gasping a little while the thief, a kid who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, clutched at his arms, eyes still screwed tight. He looked alright though—Steve had made sure to keep the kid in front of him and to land on his back instead.

There were pedestrians crowding about now, but Steve turned and spotted the second thief, the one with the purse, still on his bike. He’d stopped, but now that his compatriot would live, was taking off again.

Only for Rogers to appear out of nowhere and yank him off the bike altogether by his collar. “That’s enough for today, son,” Rogers told him sternly, and hauled him over. “Steve, you alright?”

“Not a bad workout for a Sunday morning,” Steve replied, still flat on his back. “Throw in a couple tanks, and it woulda been an even match.”

Grinning, Rogers held out a hand and hauled him to his feet. “How’s that one?”

The kid in question looked as though his knees wouldn’t hold him upright.

“Crime doesn’t pay, does it, son?” Steve asked sternly, and the kid shook his head. Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, discreetly holding him up when his legs almost buckled.

Through the crowd of curious rubberneckers and agitated drivers, the policeman finally arrived, red-faced and panting. Steve and Rogers handed off the two chastened thieves, accepted the flustered and grateful thanks of the owner of the purse. When the murmurs of the crowd started growing and shrewd bystanders began eyeing Steve’s fair-haired, clean-shaven visage thoughtfully, Rogers briskly wrapped up his statement to the cops, then, pointing to Steve’s shredded jacket, neatly extracted them from the crowd.

Steve didn’t even mind; he felt unaccountably cheerier after the whole thing. At least until he glanced at the camera he’d had strapped about his neck, and found the lens cracked.

“Nuts,” he sighed.

Rogers looked sympathetic and jerked his thumb towards a bar. “C’mon, I’ll buy.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you can’t do good,” Rogers said when they’d grabbed a pint each and sequestered themselves in a dark, sticky corner booth. “You can. You will. I… I did plenty that was good. Saved the world a few more times. I can’t say I regret that.”

“Gonna tell me how you did it?”

“Never by myself.”

Steve eyed him and shrugged. “I already know that.”

“Yeah,” Rogers smiled faintly. “But it bears repeating.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, so maybe we’ve both been a little on edge,” he admitted, and stared at Rogers a little helplessly. “So how are we supposed to live like this? We gonna split up the life we both want? The people we both love? Opportunities that come our way?”

Without making eye contact, Rogers gestured between them. “Look, can I tell you a couple things?”

“You askin’ or sayin’?”

“How often do you get to tell your younger self things you wish you knew at their age? C’mon. Indulge me. I’m not gonna tell you what to do, just some things to keep in mind. Besides, I’ll be outta your hair soon enough.”

Steve frowned. “You’re going somewhere?”

Rogers squinted into the distance. “Can’t stay here.”

The camera clunked onto the table and Steve, appalled, felt guilt and shame stirring in his chest. “Because of me? Because I’m not—” he cut himself off and sat up, straight-backed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to go,” he said carefully.

Instead, Rogers just regarded him with something approaching wry fondness. “Settle down, son. It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s all me. I’ve got a few more loose ends.”

Steve nodded slowly and sipped his beer, stalling for time. Finally, he inclined his head. “So, what’d’you wanna say?”

Rogers took another sip of his beer and half-smiled at him. “Steve,” he said, voice oddly gentle. “You’re going to want to join the fight again. Maybe not tomorrow, or next year, or even the next decade. But the world will begin to change very fast from this point on, and you’ll want to jump in, feet first, fists swinging, trying to make a difference.”

“You want me to sit it all out?”

“Hell no,” Rogers scoffed. “No, no way. But find a way to do it on your own terms, whether it’s with your fists or your paints. Stick to your guns. Don’t trust without reason. And listen to those you do trust. _Really_ listen, even if they don’t always say the things you wanna hear.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly.

“Take care of yourself, Steve,” Rogers said. “Don’t take those around you for granted.”

Steve frowned. “You think I’m that kinda guy?” he asked slowly. Steve didn’t think so, but Rogers seemed serious, and that seemed… alarming.

“I’m not saying that,” Rogers said, not unsympathetically.

Steve regarded him for a silent moment. “Is that all?”

Rogers inclined his head. “Yeah, Steve. That’s all.”

“Well.” His fingers flexing against the table surface. “You couldn’t have just told me the Kentucky Derby winners for the next five decades?”

“Didn’t watch much horse racing in the last ten years,” Rogers admitted, peeling a few bills from his pocket to leave as tip. “Too busy fighting off alien invasions.”

Steve spat out his beer.

“Oh, didn’t I say?” Rogers said lightly as he got up to leave.

“I’m starting to understand why I got my lights knocked out so often in my youth,” Steve told him.

The sound of his own laughter followed them out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid13).  
> Last chapter and epilogue tomorrow!


	13. For All We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve allows a few spoilers.

Jack didn’t understand why—if you had a time travel device, that could take you just about anywhere and anywhen you wanted to be— _why_ they had to set this sendoff so goddawful early in the morning. It was just about half past eight on Saturday, and the SSR bunker was decidedly empty, and would be until the next nuclear fallout.

Yet out of an abundance of caution here they all were, uncaffeinated, unrested, and, in his case, unshowered. Would it have killed _anyone_ to have done this on Monday, say, 2 pm? Both an infinitely more reasonable hour, and also an excellent excuse to beg off of the quarterly budget call with the DC office.

He wasn’t even sure why he was here. It was entirely a classic, grade-A Margaret Carter mess, as far as he was concerned. Jack hadn’t wanted a part in it, still kind of wanted to strap down older Steve and pump him for all that he was worth, and maybe swing a promotion with that kind of intel.

But, dammit, Daniel had insisted on attending, and then glanced to Jack as if to confirm, and, idiot soft-hearted fool that he was, Jack not only agreed to come along, but also promised to bring the coffee.

Of course, that promise didn’t take into account the scrambling last night when Vernon Masters of all people showed up at the office to bogart Dottie Underwood, and Rose calling _again_ , something nonsensical about a frozen body in a lake during a heat wave.

So, essentially, Jack had slept on his couch and woke only when his subconscious registered the weight of Daniel and Peggy’s pitying gazes boring into him from above.

“You’re going to ruin your back like that, old man,” Peggy had told him.

“Remember when we all thought he was so put together? Terrible personality, but looked the part admirably. I don’t care to see behind the curtain at all,” Daniel said, gesturing to him with his cane. There was a snort and Jack caught sight of Bucky and the Steves in the doorway.

Jack decided that no one deserved coffee anyways.

In any case, that was the last moment of levity for the day.

The bunker was more a concrete space two basement levels down and stocked half with military MREs, water barrels, a couple army cots, and also a makeshift evidence locker with stacks of unfiled paperwork in place of anything truly titillating. There wasn’t much reason to be down there unless the world was ending or you were in hiding. Jack kept meaning to see how much he’d save on rent if he could move in without anyone noticing.

“Y’know, if you let me leave, I can still claim plausible deniability when we are inevitably hauled up before a senate committee,” Jack muttered. Daniel elbowed him sharply.

Thankfully, no one else heard or cared. Steve, the time traveling one, was dressed up in some sort of skintight uniform padded out with armor and leather. It looked, Jack thought, the most future-y thing about him. He was talking calmly with Bucky, one hand gently clasped to his forearm and smiling while Peggy and Steve hung back. Peggy’s arms were crossed, and her expression was tense. Not unhappy, exactly, just. Tense. The other Steve seemed just as preoccupied.

Jack nudged Daniel. When he turned, Jack tilted his head. “Far be it from me to fight your battles, but I’m not the one who needs someone to lean on right now.”

A complicated expression flit over Daniel’s face as he followed his glance.

Jack nudged him again, hiked an eyebrow and stared him down until Daniel rolled his eyes and shuffled forward. He pulled up just behind Peggy and waited until she turned to him with a tentative smile. She didn’t pull away as he leaned in to murmur something and Jack felt a little burst of bittersweet triumph. _Attaboy, Danny_ , he thought, then smothered a yawn.

Future, alien-battling Steve was making his way over now and Jack blinked harder, tried to seem alert and professional.

“Rogers,” he said.

“Chief Thompson,” Steve replied, shaking his hand firmly. “It was an honor to have met and worked with you.”

“All mine.”

Steve shrugged. He glanced around them, where their companions were watching curiously, but out of general hearing range. “My Peggy always complained about you. A real piece of work, she said. A right tosser.”

Jack’s smile grew rigid. “She talked about me a lot, huh?”

“Oh yes,” Steve grinned, faintly shit-eating. “Often. Couldn’t be helped; you two worked together over four decades after all.”

After a stunned moment, Jack wheezed in gentle horror, “Four… decades?”

Steve smiled back benignly, clapped his shoulder. “And, ah,” he turned back, one finger slightly raised. “Word of advice. Always check who knocks before you open any doors.”

“Sure thing, Steve,” Jack said faintly. “Good luck.

“I’ll see you soon.” Steve winked and moved on to shake Daniel’s hand.

While Jack tried to wrestle with the new shape of his future (forty years! What about his promotion? What about his run for senator? That long-shot cabinet position? _Jesus_!), Bucky sidled up next to him.

“He tell ya something to knock out your senses too, huh?”

“Your pal’s a real jerk,” Jack managed.

Bucky grimaced. “Try growing up with him, then following him into a war.”

“What’d he tell you?”

“Suggested I pick up goat herding,” Bucky scowled. “We live in Manhattan, where the hell am I supposed to keep goats in the city?”

“My gamgam has a few on the farm,” Jack said. “You want, I’ll take you out to meet ‘em sometime.”

Bucky frowned before shrugging. “Why not. He say anything to you?”

They paused to eyeball Steve and Peggy, staring soulfully into each other’s eyes, her finger coming up to tenderly trace the curve of his cheek. Daniel had shuffled backwards a bit, and—Jack was proud of him—looked more concerned than uncomfortable.

“If I’m not careful, I’ll end up stuck with these yahoos for the rest of my life,” he said, jerking a thumb at said yahoos.

Bucky raised his eyebrow. “That a bad thing?”

“Unspeakably so,” Jack said with relish. “I mean, I’m a young man of ways and means, filled with ruthless ambition, y’know? There’s no way I’m getting stuck with a battleship of a woman and that soft-hearted goody two-shoes, slogging through the muck and blood in the name of national security. Can you imagine?”

“What a terrible fate,” Bucky said drily.

“Truly unacceptable,” Jack agreed firmly, unable to fight the grin off his face.

They watched as Peggy and Steve embraced a final time.

“You think he’s tellin’ me to study agriculture?” Bucky asked after a moment.

“Agribusiness is a guaranteed job. You really get that degree, I can introduce you to some people.”

“Huh. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Huh,” Bucky said again in a different tone. Steve had moved on to face his own self; meanwhile, Daniel was now shoulder to shoulder with Peggy, one hand high on her back while she leaned just barely into his side.

Bucky and Jack exchanged looks.

“Not sure I saw that coming,” Bucky confessed.

Jack said loyally, “You should’ve. No better man than our boy Sousa.”

Bucky eyeballed him and Jack eyeballed him right back before they both turned to watch Steve and Steve’s final conversation. It seemed to be solemn and serious, a lot of clenched, square jaws, stiff spines, and speaking looks.

“Lapdog growling at the mirror,” Bucky muttered.

“Hey, can you shut up,” Jack said, voice wavering as he pinched himself hard.

Bucky radiated smugness.

After another moment, the two Steves shook hands, which turned into a one-armed, back-thumping embrace. As they separated, the rest of them drew closer.

Steve smiled around at them. “Well, this is it,” he said. “Thanks, everyone. I promise, we’ll meet again.”

“You nervous?” Jack asked.

Steve glanced at him. “Oh, sure. Time travel’s a helluva thing, finicky as heck. I could pop back in as a baby.”

“What?” Daniel and other Steve said, alarmed.

“I’m not changing your diapers, pal,” Bucky said.

“But I’m pretty sure that won’t happen. Eighty percent sure,” Steve said. He sighed then, a betrayal of his nerves, and looked around at them all, fondly. Contentedly. “It’s good enough for me.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Peggy said, a little watery, but smiling.

“You’ll barely miss me, between one blink and the next,” he assured her. “I look forward to hearing how… everything goes. And, uh. You might want to step back, just in case.” He made an exploding motion with his hands.

They did, and Steve poked at a sleek, plastic band on his wrist that Jack hadn’t even noticed. Very future-ish. There was an imperceptible hum in the air, and then Steve looked up, grinning.

“Farewell, and thanks for all the f—”

Abruptly, he disappeared. The remaining Steve waved a cautious hand through the space where he’d been moments before and met no resistance.

“He’s really gone,” Steve said uncertainly.

Daniel patted Peggy’s back absently. “Doobin’d be so pissed if he knew we didn’t take records.”

“Howard’ll jump straight to murder,” Peggy said. Her voice was thick; she cleared her throat briskly.

Bucky crossed the floor and slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “You alright?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, just. A lot to think about.”

They exchanged even more speaking looks, and that was, officially, when the straw broke the camel’s back.

“Alright, everyone,” Jack snapped. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sickly sweet sentiments expressed in this depressingly brutalist surrounding, but can we get out of here and go out into what I’m sure is a beautiful morning? A morning, might I remind, that was a completely arbitrary choice for this tender occasion, when a more reasonable and cheerier option would have been say, an hour past lunch? Does anyone want pancakes? Christ on a stick, I’d shove any of you in front of a bus for coffee and hash browns. Let’s _go_ , people.”

“I always underestimate your capability to ruin a moment, Jack,” Peggy sighed.

“Coffee, then nagging,” Jack said, as they made their way up out of the offices and down the street towards the L&L Automat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid14).


	14. Way Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

_Brooklyn, September mid-1950s_

“Buck, I’m going overseas,” Steve announced, bursting through the door of their Brooklyn walkup. His camera bag was slung over one shoulder as always, the lanyard of his press pass trailing from one of the pockets.

“What?” Bucky shoved his glasses up, blinking up from his stack of student papers. “Where? When?” After a pause, he added, “Why, how, who, too, I guess.”

Steve had beelined for the bedroom and started up a racket opening and closing drawers. Offended by the disturbance of his nap, Marty came padding out of the room to settle with a heavy huff at Bucky’s feet. Bucky patted the shepherd mix sympathetically before pushing away from his desk to stand in the doorway.

“The magazine wants to run a feature on North Africa and I pitched them on the architecture of Morocco,” Steve explained, counting out pairs of socks.

Bucky hummed doubtfully. “…But?”

Steve grinned. “But if I _happen_ to wander across the border and stumble upon whatever is going on in Algeria, I’m sure I’ve got a spare roll or two.”

“Steve,” Bucky said. “There’s a war. That’s what’s going on in Algeria.”

“They’re murdering civilians in the streets,” Steve snapped, and threw a shirt into his open suitcase angrily. “Women and children. And no one cares!”

“ _Steve,_ it’s great you want to help, but,” Bucky cut himself off with a sigh. “Which magazine is this again?”

Shrugging Steve ducked into the closet and rifled through the hangers. “ _Holiday_ ,” he confessed.

“ _Holiday_ magazine,” Bucky said slowly. “And you think they’ll take a photo essay on- on warzones?”

“Paul Bowles is set to do the write up,” Steve continued gamely.

Bucky pinched at his temples. “Alright,” he sighed. “There’s the who, what, where, why. When and how?”

“Flying out to London tonight, then to Paris, and Paris to Marrakech.” Steve stood up and grinned at him. “You wanna come along?”

“As much as I’d like, it’s the first week of classes, and I’m lecturing tomorrow morning,” Bucky reminded, and watched as Steve winced.

“Ah,” he said, and then rallying, came forward. “Hi honey. How was your day?”

Bucky prodded him, unmoved. “Would it really kill you to just… avoid running headlong into international conflicts for once? They’ve got nuclear bombs now. Pretty sure the serum needs something to work with, which it won’t if you’re atomized.”

That familiar, equally exasperating and beloved stubbornness appeared. “I’m just trying to do what I can. I’ve got my camera and press credentials, and I don’t get hurt easy. If that means I can get a little closer to the action, and share that with the world, maybe people will give a damn.”

“I know.” Bucky patted him. “Have you told Peggy?”

Steve frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything? Anyways, who knows if I even make it past the borders.”

Bucky snorted and shook his head. “Okay. You eat dinner yet? I’ll heat up some stew.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

The walls of their apartment were hung with an assorted mix of Bucky’s old family portraits and Steve’s black-and-white photos, from the V-Day anniversary parade that landed him his first published piece, to Angie’s glamorous headshot scrawled with her triumphant autograph, to intimate portraits of friends and family.

Bucky passed by one framed image that never failed to make him smile—him and Steve, and newly minted SHIELD Director Peggy squashed between the two of them. Her usual propriety was missing, face scrunched up with open-mouthed laughter, curls awry, one arm slung around Steve and the other toting champagne as Bucky and Steve each kissed a cheek. That one had been taken by Jack Thompson. In the Sousa household, there was another from the same evening, this one featuring Daniel’s long-suffering smile and confetti-studded hair as centerpiece, Peggy’s head tilted against his and Jack on the other side with his forearm propped on Daniel’s shoulder, a party horn clenched in his grin.

Marty’s eyebrows jumped and twitched as his eyes tracked Bucky crossing his path into the kitchen, but he didn’t bother to get up. The stew was still lukewarm from his own dinner earlier, so Bucky just lit the flames again and gave it a stir. He tossed some sliced bread into the toaster and then picked up the phone. He wedged the handset between his ear and shoulder as he dialed.

“Hey, Dan? Yeah, it’s Bucky. Oh, good, thanks for asking. I think it’s a good group this semester. All good in DC? Yeah. Listen, Steve’s heading out on assignment to Morocco. Uh-huh. Yep, you guessed it. Yeah, that’d be great, I don’t think anyone expects SHIELD to just drop everything and go after him if it goes wrong, but that’d be just fine.” Bucky squinted up at the ceiling. “Nah, if he gets tossed in a cell, just let him stew a bit and cool off. He can take it.”

Steve emerged from the bedroom, frowning reproachfully at Bucky.

“Uh-huh, yeah.” Bucky caught his eye and smirked. “Sure, I’ll hold.”

“Bucky,” Steve warned.

Bucky didn’t have his prosthetic on, but he jabbed his arm at him anyways. “Punks who’re planning on illegal border crossings into a warzone don’t get to talk when the adults are making sure you do it safely. Eat your dinner, Stevie.”

Scowling, Steve ladled himself up a bowl, then hovered next to Bucky, trying to listen in. Bucky shoved at him until he backed off mulishly.

“Yep, still here. Uh-huh. Huh. Oh really?” Bucky’s eyebrows rose and he glanced at Steve. “You don’t say. No, that’s great. Uh-huh. I’ll let him know. Thanks, Daniel. Okay, pass on my regards. Buh-bye.”

“What’d you do?” Steve demanded.

“Me?” Bucky said, reaching over and plucking the bread out of the toaster. He tossed them to Steve and dropped into the chair across from him. “Nothing. Just making sure you got a way to get home in case things go south.”

“Not necessary.”

“Mm. I’d agree, had you not a habit of making personal enemies of government officials and congressmen who wouldn’t mind leaving you to your fate,” Bucky said.

Steve said through a mouthful, “No one listens to that drunk asshole anymore.”

“Chew with your mouth closed you disgusting beast. Sure, McCarthy’s finished, but knowing you, you’ll just keep digging until you drag the whole Foreign Relations committee into a fight.”

Steve rolled his eyes, stuffed the last sop of bread into his mouth. “I’ve got a plane to catch. And you’ve got a lecture to prep for.”

“Unlike some people, I plan my work in advance. Hey, you pack your toothbrush?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Underwear?”

“Yeah.

“Passport?”

“Buck,” Steve said, drawing close. Bucky, unmoved, crossed his arm and stared. “I’ll be fine. I know when to stay in my lane, alright?”

Bucky didn’t blink at the blatant untruth. “Jack’s in Berlin,” he said instead. “He’ll be in charge of hauling your ass out of there if necessary.”

Steve made a face. “The embassy really able to spare him?”

“Of course not. So you better behave,” Bucky snorted.

“Always.” Steve smiled at him.

“Time’s your flight?”

“Soon,” Steve said, eyeing the clock. “Better get to it.”

“You forgetting something?” Bucky asked, one hand tangled in the hem of Steve’s shirt.

“Pretty sure that doesn’t happen to me,” Steve grinned. “Perfect recall.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky told him, and kissed him.

“Maybe I can catch a later flight,” Steve suggested when they came up for air.

Laughing Bucky pecked him again, then shoved him on his way. “Go on, Stevie. Go save the world. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

_Washington DC, November 1963_

As soon as Daniel came through the doors, Peggy was on her feet and hurrying towards him to pull him into her arms.

“Good work, darling,” she said, greeting him with a kiss before pulling away.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he said dryly, setting down his bag and lowering himself into her office chair. She took his crutch and leaned it against her desk, then sank into the chair next to him.

“Was it close?” she asked.

He wobbled his hand in response. “We had it covered, and nothing happened that we couldn’t handle. But the President and First Lady’s pretty spooked—and I think if it’s really the Soviets, we’re going to have our hands full preventing a hot war.”

Peggy shook her head. “We’ll never be able to prove it.”

“I know that,” Daniel sighed, sounding exhausted. “You talk to Hoover yet?”

She made a face. “More or less. We’re going to be locked in meetings for the foreseeable future at the White House. Detestable man.”

“Well, good luck and just don’t mention tip-offs from time-traveling superheroes. Or do. See how he reacts,” he suggested.

Peggy shook her head at him. “You’ve tricked everyone into thinking you’re the sensible one, when all you want to do is watch the world burn.”

He grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “It’s about seeing what makes people tick, that’s what makes me an effective manipulator,” he told her. “Anyways, I came to drop stuff off, but I’m heading home. You done for the day?”

She glanced back at her desk and shrugged. “Probably not. As handled as that was, there was still an attempt. Besides, Howard’s in town too, so the Jarvises have Michael and Ellie for the night. You can probably get in a uninterrupted solid eight hours and a bath if you leave right now.”

Daniel groaned. “Heaven.”

She laughed, and broke off when the phone rang. “If it’s to tell me that the alien invasion has arrived forty years early…” she sighed and picked up. “Hello? Oh. It’s you. Just a moment.”

She set the handset down and jabbed at speakerphone. Out from the speaker spilled forth the cranky grumbling of one Jack Thompson, caught mid-rant about one thing or another.

“— _for the agency, swear to God, Carter, if you think you can choose how I’m going to spend_ my _time_ -”

“Jack, you’re on speaker,” she said.

“ _Oh, so now we’re not even going to pretend that security is an issue, is that it? You’re an intelligence professional, Marge, whatever happened to standards_?”

Daniel leaned forward. “Shut up, Jack, you’re giving me a headache.”

The phone went silent for a beat, and then reliably continued. “ _Well, hello Sousa. Did you have a hand in this? Huh_?”

Daniel glanced at Peggy who bit her lip, trying not to smile. It made her look as young as they day they’d met. “What exactly are we talking about here?”

“ _The tickets! The tickets to Los Angeles! For Christmas! I hate that place, and you know why! I’m not going. Do not mark me down_.”

Daniel ducked his chin. “Well, it just seemed more convenient for everyone this year,” he said evenly. “What with Howard working out of the Malibu office and Bucky’s appointment at UCLA this semester.”

“ _It’s a godless hellhole filled with sinister doll-faced Hollywood gangster molls plotting evil science_ ,” Jack hissed. “ _And your brother, waltzing around, shooting your best friends_.”

“Oh, are _you_ my best friend?” Peggy sniped.

“ _Well, I’m not going. Besides, who picks Christmas in Los Angeles over New York_?”

“Anyone who’s spent Christmas mired in a snowstorm. Don’t be such a baby, Jack,” Peggy said. “You’ll break Michael and Ellie’s hearts; they haven’t seen you since last December.”

“ _Still can’t believe you named your son after the man who shot me_ ,” Jack muttered. “ _And don’t play that card with me, not when you’re the one who moved to Maryland_.”

Peggy and Daniel exchanged eyerolls. “Jack, you’ve been in Saigon for the past two years.”

“ _Yes! Exactly! I have been stuck in my own, worst personal hell for two years shouting at a full panoply of government morons and demoralized children in uniform and traumatized civilians in a_ jungle _being eaten alive by_ mosquitoes _in a corner of the world I genuinely, truly hoped I would never see again. And now that the end is in sight, and I can come home,”_ he spluttered. _“You want to reroute me to southern_ California _. Are you trying to drive me crazy, Marge_?”

“Sweetheart,” Peggy said, “breathe.”

“What Peggy means is,” Daniel cut in hastily before Jack could make like Krakatoa, “we thought it’d be nice if you and Steve flew back together to Los Angeles, and we all had Christmas dinner with the usual gang, before heading back to DC for New Year’s.”

There was dead silence on the other end.

“Hello? Jack, you still there?”

More silence, until Peggy coughed delicately and leaned forward. “Jack? Did you not know Steve was in Cambodia?”

“ _No, Peggy, I did not_ ,” Jack said frostily.

“Ah, well. He is,” Peggy said. “And he’ll be in Saigon by Sunday. Isn’t that nice?”

_“Christ_ ,” Jack breathed. “Why?”

“They say freedom of the press doesn’t hold much weight with the Khmer Rouge, and apparently they’ve threatened to chop him up and toss him in the Mekong for bait,” Peggy said.

“ _No_.”

“Jack…”

“ _Why? Why me? Why is it always me? Can’t he take pictures of- of pageant queens in Texas instead? Is it a curse or something, that he just keeps stumbling on war crimes and humanitarian crises every time he walks out the door? And then, because he hates me, personally_ , me, _he goes and yells at a prime minister or a three-star general or—ha!—the chief of the_ stasi, _remember that one? And then_ I _get hauled up before the ambassador, and the CIA station chief, and my ass gets chewed to mulch just because Steve Rogers has_ all _the impulse control of a drunk monkey in a room full of buttons labeled DO NOT TOUCH, while also figuring out how to sneak him out of a black site prison and back to the States. Only for him to do the exact same thing not a month later. He’s not even my friend, he’s yours!_ ”

Daniel told him, “Actually, you’ve hauled him out of more jail cells than any of us, including Bucky, by our last count. So I think you’re safe to claim him as a friend.”

“ _I don’t want this kind of friend! This kind of friend gives me ulcers_!”

“We know, Jack,” Peggy said sympathetically. “That's why Bucky always has that 25-year Laphroaig for you at Christmas.”

“And,” Daniel pointed out, “If you do the Los Angeles layover at Christmas, you’ll get your bottle sooner than if you had to wait for us to get back.”

“We might be tempted to partake,” Peggy added.

“ _Don’t you dare_ ,” Jack growled. “ _I’m the only one who deserves it. Every single drop is mine. I’ve_ earned _it_.”

“Yes, Jack, you have,” they chorused dutifully.

There was a sharp sigh. “ _Fine. But if he sneaks out and gets tangled with the Viet Cong, I’m leaving him there_.”

“Alright, Jack,” Peggy said, sliding an amused look at Daniel. They all knew, without saying, that if Steve was somehow captured and unable to fight his own way out, Jack would be on the next helicopter out to fetch him, silently screaming the entire way.

“ _I mean it this time_ ,” he warned.

“We get it,” Daniel assured.

“ _Fine_.” Jack took a deep breath and released it, the sound whistling through the receiver. “ _Alright, I got a meeting in ten. Anything else you want to share to ruin my day_?”

Peggy hummed. “Daniel foiled an assassination attempt on the president yesterday, but no one noticed except for the agents directly involved, so everything’s fine on our end. Have a great day, Jack, see you at Christmas!”

She hung up mid-squawking, and turned to Daniel with a bright grin. “You know what? I think that _is_ a good place to end for today, so I will head out with you; shall we do dinner and drinks?”

Her husband laughed. “I’d like nothing better. Maybe something tropical, in honor of absent friends.”

_New York, late 1960s_

“Your friends are very… interesting,” Maria said, but not in a displeased way. At least, Howard didn’t think so. He grinned as he tugged at his bowtie.

“They’re a bunch of characters alright,” he agreed. “You can’t account for their bad manners—half of us got to know each other during war, and the other half as scrappy boots-on-the-ground agents. All of us together and they forget that they’re some of the most powerful people in the country. Jack and Peggy especially—I think the louder their fights, the longer they’ve been apart. But woe betide anyone who tries to get between them.”

“Upset they teamed up against you?” she said, laughing a little.

“They have an unfair advantage,” Howard admitted. “We used to see each other more often, and the others still do, with Peggy and Daniel in DC, and Jack, Bucky, and Steve up in New York.” He raised on finger. “Angie Martinelli was a surprise guest, though. You’ve met her before, right?”

“Yes, when she was performing in the West End a few years ago. I was quite starstruck,” Maria confessed with a smile.

“Well, if you were, you played it cool as a cuke, sweetheart,” Howard assured her.

Humming, Maria unclasped her earrings and set them in her jewelry box. “I’m glad you have people like that in your life,” she said, catching his eye in the vanity mirror.

“Like _that_?” He snorted. “Really? Remember how we had to spring Steve from a jail cell in Montgomery in order to get him to Thanksgiving dinner on time? And then he made us bail out the rest of the fellas on the spot, and our stock prices dropped like a rock? Two board members quit the next day!”

“You never liked them anyways,” Maria reminded him. “And I think that was more about you being caught on camera telling that angry young man outside the station to piss up a rope.”

“I don’t like people telling me what to do or who to do ‘em with, what can I say?” Howard shrugged. It was true the crowd hadn’t much been pleased with him, and apparently neither were his investors after news of it hit the papers. But hell, Steve had been beaming with such pride, and those folks he’d bailed out, their families were so relieved, Howard could never find it in himself to regret it. Besides, in the long run, it’ll be good publicity. Just give it another news cycle, and in the meantime, Howard had plenty of other business to take care.

Maria patted his shoulder as she slipped by. “You’re a good man, Howard.”

“I’m a futurist,” he corrected.

“Whatever you call it, I do think it bodes well for our future too.”

“Oh yeah?” Howard said absently, already thinking about new avenues of business. “I appreciate the confidence, my dear.”

Maria turned to fully face him her smile bright but also a little tense. “How were the wines for dinner?”

“Wine?” Howard blinked, glancing up. “Tasted fine to me, you know I prefer whiskey. Did you not have any?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Howard frowned. “Seems unlikely Jarvis would forget to pour you.”

Maria’s smile didn’t budge. “He didn’t forget.”

His eyebrows beetled in confusion. “So, why are we talking about wine you didn’t want?”

“Can’t have.” She gave him a meaningful look. And then to drive home the point, laid one hand delicately over her stomach.

Howard’s mind went blank.

When he resurfaced, he found himself holding his wife’s hands and babbling nonsense. “A baby? We’re making a baby?”

“We are,” Maria said. “Congratulations, Howard. You’re going to be a father.”

“What- what do you need? Should I call for Jarvis? Or, no. Ana!”

Maria laughed and shook her head. “Don’t go bothering them at this hour about it.”

Howard sat down hard and nearly missed the bed, not that he noticed. “A baby,” he echoed, and fell silent.

After a moment, Maria sat down next to him, and he took her hand. “What are you thinking,” she asked gently.

“Nothing,” Howard protested. “…Never really thought about being a dad. I mean—machines are easy. Numbers are easy. People? Eh.”

“And yet, people have children every day,” Maria pointed out.

Howard bobbed his head absently. “A helluva thing, Maria,” he said. “It’s a helluva thing. You think they’ll be anything like us?”

“What, your looks, my smarts?” Maria smiled. “If we’re lucky, he’ll have all that and more.”

“A boy?”

“Gut feeling.”

“Heh. _That’s_ unscientific,” Howard laughed.

Maria shifted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. Her fingers stroked his knuckles as she asked, “What do you think he’ll be like?”

Howard opened his mouth. He wanted any child of his to be smart—fiercely so, the kind of intellect that could change the world. He wanted them to be cunning, to charm investors and the public at large, with a thick skin because it would make their life as a Stark a little more bearable. He wanted there to be streak of ruthlessness, of tenacity. No one should ever get the better of them—Starks were born to climb and conquer, whether that be society, science, or business.

He wanted them to be—

“Kind.” The word sprang forth from his lips, without much input from his brain.

“Oh?” Maria said, surprised.

“What, you don’t think so?”

“No, I hope he is. I just didn’t think you’d agree.”

“Well,” Howard murmured, turning to kiss the top of her head. “Just the man I about admire most once told me that he thought I was kind. I have no idea what exactly he saw in me to fit the description, but it’s stuck with me all these years. 'Course, he doesn’t remember that conversation at all.”

“It’s exactly what I wish for,” Maria said. “A little boy with a heart big and bright and bold as the sun.”

“The sun, huh? I hope so too,” he murmured, his mind already drifting forward, ever onward, towards the future.

_Somewhere outside of Bialystok, mid-1970s_

As quick as the fighting had begun, the silence cut in. Then, there, soft but distinct— the creak of footsteps along the hall. The girl heard a soft snap and light blinked on below the door. Alone in the safe house bedroom, she could feel her heart rate pick up, adrenaline begin ticking through her veins.

Was this a test? A different one from what the handlers had explained? Would she be expected to kill this one, a trained fighter, rather than the corrupt businessman tomorrow they’d briefed her on?

The handle turned, and her grip on her knife steadied.

Light filtered in around the outline of a tall, sturdy figure as the door swung open. She tensed, one hand cuffed to the bed post, the other hiding the knife under the pillow, and stared, unblinking as the blond-haired man in combat uniform looked down at her.

And then he kneeled so he could meet her gaze straight on.

“Hello, Natalia,” he said in American English.

She didn’t reply. He _did_ know her name, the one in her records, not on this mission's cover. Was this a test? It was very strange how much he looked like the man in history films, the American soldier. Captain America, who was now, she’d heard an instructor sneer, a troublemaker of an even worse kind. This man had a beard, though, and was older. She noted he was careful to stay out of arms’ reach.

“I’m afraid I don’t speak much Russian,” he said after a moment of silence, “so I do hope your records didn’t lie when they said you’d grown up bilingual. My name is Steve Rogers.”

“Like the Captain America,” she said softly, and he brightened.

“Yes, that’s right. And you’re Natalia Alianovna Romanoff. You can let go of that knife, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Her fingers clenched, and she forced them to relax. “That’s what you’d say if you did want to hurt me.”

He held up both hands before him and slowly reached one hand into a pocket. Out of it he drew keys for the handcuffs and offered it. “Go ahead and do what you like. I won’t strike back no matter what.”

She didn’t reply, and didn’t take the keys either. After a moment, he shook his head and laughed to himself.

“I know this is unexpected,” he told her.

“What are the orders,” she demanded.

“No orders. This isn’t a test, I promise,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

The captain lookalike regarded her unreadably. The key still dangled from his fingers. Another moment passed before he reached out, not slow or quick, but steady and exaggerated so she could see him reach out for the handcuffs, and with as little skin contact as possible, unlocked her hand.

Quick as a flash she was on him, knife flashing, trying to catch him in a chokehold.

And just as quickly, he broke her hold, twisted around, and neatly pinned her to the floor, her own knife pointed at her throat.

For a long, agonizing second, she thought she was dead. But then, he flipped the knife and offered her the handle.

“If you want to pull one over me, you’ve got a ways to go,” he told her, smiling. “I know all your tricks.”

“What do you want?” she whispered.

He rocked back and waited until she scrambled upright. “Well, to get out of here, for one,” he said. “Maybe if we make good enough time, some breakfast before we head to the United States.”

“Why?” she asked, confused.

“Because,” he said, “I owe a dear friend a great debt and I can’t think of a better way to pay them back.” He smiled strangely at her, sad and happy all at once. “I’ve come a long way to find you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Is this a test?” Her voice broke a little on the last word.

“Natasha,” Steve said. “I’d like to take you away from everything you’ve ever known, and start a new life, where you can grow up, go to school, make friends, and live your life on your own terms. It’s not a test, I promise. Hey, I got something for you.”

She watched warily as he rummaged through a pocket, and withdrew something. He offered to her and she picked up a red bracelet, laced with silver bells and a little charm of ballet slippers. Her breath quickened.

“Want me to put it on for you?” he asked hopefully. She shrugged and slipped it into her own pocket for now. He didn’t seem upset, and she stared at him, silently.

He could be lying. The Red Room sometimes had sick, psychological mind games they played on her and the other girls, turning them on each other, tempting them with offers of escape. But still—still, this felt—different. This man seemed different. And hope had gained its wings, fluttering up her throat and battered at the back of her teeth.

“What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?” He held out his hand, palm up, patient and encouraging.

Natasha took his hand, and together they left the Red Room behind.

_Washington DC, mid-1970s_

_Peggy? Hey, it’s me. I’m back—now. Any way you can swing an exfil from Nuremburg? And I’ve got someone with me, a kid. A real special kid, and I think you’ll like her a lot. Thanks, Peggy, we’ll sit tight until then. It’s good to hear from you too; I’m looking forward to coming home. Can’t wait to hear what you've all been up to._

_I’ll see you soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid15).  
> Anyways, thanks for sticking in out!

**Author's Note:**

> Commentary over on [DW](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/150018.html#cutid1)


End file.
